


Quiet on the set

by Nina36



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Hollywood AU, More tags and relationships to be added, Past Abuse, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-08-05 10:46:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 57,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16366385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nina36/pseuds/Nina36
Summary: In hindsight, he realised that he had been naïve.Which was frankly an understatement to convey how much of a bloody idiot he had been, how he had known nothing.To be hailed as the new Tarantino, Scorsese after that little movie he had made straight out of Uni, with his friends, by taking out a mortgage on his own family house, maxing out all his cards, asking money to all his friends and acquaintances had been one thing.





	1. How it began

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jyia](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Jyia).



> many thanks to @jiya whose moodboard inspired me to write this. A lifetime as an avid cinephile, reader of movie blogs and how production of movies usually go helped me a lot. I made up some stuff, and I took inspiration from Hollywood's real people in some cases.  
> Anyway, go visit her tumblr at: jonsaagenda.tumblr.com

*

From Variety:

_John Snow to direct “Good Queen Alysanne” from Tyrion Lannister’s script._

_Director Jon Snow is set to direct the highly anticipated “Good Queen Alysanne”, penned by Tyrion Lannister. The drama, whose script topped the Black List last year, is set to start production early next year. No names yet, besides Snow and Lannister, are attached to the project but casting will start as early as next week, sources confirm._

_This is Snow’s first project since last year’s “Fire and Ice”_

**_Keep reading…_ **

_*_

 

In hindsight, he realised that he had been naïve.

Which was frankly an understatement to convey how much of a bloody idiot he had been, how he had known _nothing._

To be hailed as the new Tarantino, Scorsese after that _little_ movie he had made straight out of Uni, with his friends, by taking out a mortgage on his own family house, maxing out all his cards, asking money to all his friends and acquaintances had been one thing.

The next project had been a walk in the park in comparison; he had paid his debts, he had only had to deal with studios and a million of things that went with the job: lights, props, actors insecurities, how to stay within the budget and still make things look cool.

Easy.

His third movie – within four year from the first had been a huge box office hit, it had gained traction and had had awards buzz from TIFF to nominations morning.

He had been snubbed, of course. Hell, if Christopher Nolan got snubbed on a regular basis, who was he Jon Snow, to complain?

And then Good Queen Alysanne happened.

Tyrion Lannister had written the script, which meant that everyone and their mother wanted to be part of it. Lannister was, simply put, the best in town. He was also Joffrey Baratheon maternal’s uncle but, at the time, it didn’t matter.

He truly knew nothing at the time.

The script was – everything he had dreamed of while growing up: exciting, funny, scary, dramatic; it had everything in it and more. As he read it – thanks to an Oscar afterparty and way too much vodka and the fact that Lannister had looked at him in the eyes and told him that he might not butcher his script and not be a total hack job with it – he could see it: from the first to the last page, he knew how he wanted to shoot it, he knew that it would look majestic and unique and that, for the first time since that little movie, he would actually have to stop and listen to his actors.

Yep, he knew nothing.

He didn’t know Sansa Stark at the time. Well, no one truly did. They knew her family, of course because unless one lived under a rock it was impossible not to know the Tully-Stark dynasty.

Actors and editors and cinematographers that had been there since the beginning – and even before, in some cases.

The fact that Ned and Catherine had hidden in some castle in Ireland and had kept their children away from the circus had not mattered in the long run: Robb had been the first to rebel, even if only partly, as he worked in theatre, and stayed the hell away from the silver screen; Theon, their adoptive son, was making a name for himself as an editor, reshaping how tv was made. Sansa, however, was a surprise.

Starting with her screen test.

He had decided, early on, while still reading the script on his sofa, with Ghost, his dog at his feet, that he would not accept tapes – not for Queen Alysanne. That was even before he was actually given the okay to direct the movie and pre-production started.

Casting directors were essential, they did miracles sometimes, but in that case, he had felt, deep in his gut, that he would have to be there. From extras to the main roles he would have to test actors.

It was nerve-wracking – he found out. He still wasn’t jaded enough not to care about people and he was lucky that Brienne was a kick-ass producer who had been around far longer than he had because he would have drowned within the first day if it weren’t for her.

Queen Alysanne was the talk of the town, he was a young director who had a reputation for being difficult (which actually meant that he didn’t take any bullshit if he could help it).

That said, he had no idea, none whatsoever, about what he got into.

 

*

_Melisandre Gossip: Celebrity Gossip, News, Photos Rumours_

_Blind Item: Sparks flying?_

_This movie is the talk of the town. Many young actresses have been testing for the title role – the director didn’t accept tapes for this movie, especially not for the female protagonist._

_It was clear to everyone, however, that the director had found his queen when sparks started flying during her screen test._

_Watch this space for a surprising casting._

*

Maergery Tirell was _not_ stupid. She played dumb on occasion when it suited her, during talk shows interviews, for example, or to avoid handsy producers. Stupid, however, was something she decidedly was not. She tested for Good Queen Alysanne the same day her friend Sansa Stark did.

 She had known Sansa since they were children and went to the same prep school and, later, the same public one. Yes, they were _those_ sort of actors, the ones that came from public schools and privileged backgrounds; the posh ones. She honestly couldn’t care less about her background; she had studied hard to get where she was and the fact that she had a posh accent and a good education didn’t make her any less a good actress.

Sansa, however, had been a surprise; she had never done theatre while at school, she had been part of the crew, but had not done one show. Only later, did she find out that her parents had asked her not to and the reason for that request.

 They had stayed friends even after school, while she burst her arse doing local theatre work and Sansa went at BAFTAs afterparties with her brother and met Joffrey Baratheon.

They had stayed friends during the year from hell she spent with Baratheon and how his family turned it into a circus and she was on the front page of every tabloid in the world and almost had a mental breakdown because of it.

They had stayed friends when Sansa started doing small parts in small productions for BBC – using a stage name even if everyone knew who her parents were.

They stayed friends when she made her first horror movie as the girl who got murdered right after the first one and she dodged paparazzi and haters on social media with finesse.

They were still friends.

They would always be – even if she knew she had just lost the part to Sansa Stark and not because she was Ned Stark’s daughter.

No.

She could act.

Correction: she was fucking spectacular.

She wasn’t stupid. And she had eyes.

That was going to get interesting.

  
*

_From Hollywood Reporter:_

_‘Future Perfect’ what went wrong?_

_Reviews are in for the sci-fi movie ‘Future Perfect’, starring Joffrey Baratheon, produced by Petyr Baelish and there is one question most of the reviewers have been asking: what exactly went wrong?_

_On paper the movie had everything in it to be a success: it stars the young and excellent Baratheon in the role of Rodrik Anderson a young physicist whom by altering one event starts a chain reaction that shatters his life, over and over._

_It was one of the most anticipated movies of the year, produced by Baelish, whose aggressive marketing campaigns usually deliver._

_The reshoots urged by the studios after the first screenings, the firing of the editor halfway through the post-production process only made things more apparent._

_The movie is a disjointed, self-indulgent mess, only partially redeemed by Baratheon’s touching performance and Greyjoy fast-paced editing._

_The question remains: what went wrong?_

_*_

He was going to slap his nephew. He was not a violent person, not by any stretch of imagination, his mind had always been his sharpest weapon, but Jesus Christ, that brat was intolerable!

“You have to say no! You have the last word, I _demand_ that you veto that bitch out of the movie!” Joffrey spat.

He rolled his eyes. Cersei would probably have an aneurysm if someone dared to touch her precious firstborn, which was not exactly helping him not to slap the little sod to oblivion.

The Starks were ten kinds of batshit insane, but he respected the fact that they had tried to protect their children from the business – it did bad things to people, children especially, and his nephew was living proof of it.

He was also living proof that having a good publicist who sold the image of the golden boy, humble and talented who still pined after his girlfriend was just drivel. Joffrey was talented, but talent in their family was dime a dozen: they were all good at what they did, Lannisters could never be anything less than perfect. Joffrey, however, was – cruel, selfish, vain, self-involved. He was a snivelling little shit and he was done with him.

He was a little person. His mother had died in childbirth and his father and sister hated him for that. He didn’t particularly care about their opinions, he had had decades of therapy to come to terms with that fact and writing helped him channel his issues (which he failed to mention in his interviews because no one truly wanted to know why was he so good, why his scripts were so visceral and dry and directors and producers almost came to fist to have him on board), nonetheless the sound of his hand slapping Joffrey’s smug little face was satisfying.

Take that, Sigmund.

Joffrey looked affronted. He looked like he was that close to burst into tears and ask for his mummy and Bronn, his ever-faithful p.a. and life saver was trying very, very hard not to laugh.

“How dare you!” He said.

“That _bitch,_ ” Tyrion said, making air quotes, without even bothering to hide his hatred for that word, “should have had you arrested last year – she didn’t, you should shut the fuck up, boy!”

“I didn’t do anything! It was an accident!” Joffrey replied. He was scared, however. No one usually stood up to him because he had a temper, but he had started to suspect for a while that there might be more to it.

“She fell on your fist?” Bronn said behind him.

It had been ugly – and he had said the truth: Sansa Stark should have had Joffrey arrested, instead, it had taken another “accident” for her to wake up and finally dump him. He supposed she had had her reasons not to report him to the police and he was pretty sure that if Ned Stark ever met Joffrey there would be blood.

“Who the fuck –“ Joffrey started, but Tyrion interrupted him saying, “No. I will not veto her presence in the movie. And no, you cannot demand anything, nephew!”

“She doesn’t deserve that part!” Joffrey almost whined and Tyrion had to smile at the scoff he heard coming from Bronn.

“Perhaps, but only time will tell. Meanwhile, have you checked the reviews for Future Perfect?” He asked, realising that he had not moved at step even when Joffrey had stood up and crowded his space.

“You know I don’t read reviews,” Joffrey replied.

He was a good liar, he had taken after his mother after all – but they both knew that like most of what he said it was just a soundbite, something he had learned by heart, provided by his publicist. Joffrey had read the reviews and while his own were good, the movie was a total disaster – the second in a row.

“Wise choice, kid.” He said.

“You know I can make things difficult for her.”

He shrugged. Yes, he was aware. Just like he was aware that Sansa Stark’s screen test had been marvellous and Snow was currently butting heads with executives to have her in the movie. He had got texts from him asking for his support and he had already given him.

Lannisters kept their word. Well, most of them did. Actually, it was only Jamie and him who did it, but they were the ones that mattered.

“Yes, and I can make things hard for you in the real world, kid. Do you really want to try me?” He asked.

He knew, however, that Joffrey would be a complete and utter git to the Stark girl, like he had been when they were together – and his mother would lend a hand.

Great!

Time to warn Snow and prepare for war.

*

_From: Tormund’s blog: Freefolk._

_All hail! Daenerys Stormborn is back!_

_Alright, folks, you have probably read it everywhere by now: Snow and Lannister are making a movie together. We all know that when Lannister is involved in a production (and sources are telling me that he’s being a pain in the arse to the studios, backing up Snow’s choices and putting his foot down for his own) he is the_ de facto _boss on set._

 _Lannister has been talking about writing a script about Queen Alysanne for years and if you’ve read the script you know how good it is – you also know that Snow is probably my favorite young director._ Fire and Ice was _a fucking masterpiece._

_Today’s news is that Daenerys Stormborn, has just signed up for Good Queen Alysanne. She is back, folks! And sources tell me that a reunion fans have wanted for years is probably going to take place very, very soon._

_Which brings me to the main casting: Sansa Stark and Daario Naharis. If you have taken a look at the script you know that Naharis’ character is definitely not the main draw of the movie – it’s Professor Reid and the two women._

_So, what the fuck is Ned Stark’s daughter doing in this movie? Why is she playing Queen Alysanne? I have nothing against Ms. Stark, I’m sure she is a good person and possibly, in time, she might become a half decent actress, but does she have the chops to play Alysanne, now? Whereas we know how good Dany is, she showed time and again the depth of her range as an actress._

_Sources told me that Stark’s test blew everyone away._

_I am sceptic.  Snow surely knows how to use a camera, but so far he hasn’t been known for his skills as an actor’s director._

_Time will tell, I guess._

_Meanwhile, Baelish who should perhaps stop marketing his movies within an inch of their lives and just, you know, go back to the times when he was a good, insightful movie mogul, is set to produce “Good Queen Alysanne”._

_You bloody know what that means, right?_

*

Theon wasn’t even listening to her; he was deep in layers upon layers of final cut pro and he had been replaying the same frame for over ten minutes.

“What am I doing?” She said.

Silence. On the screen, a man and a woman were walking hand in hand under a pouring rain and Theon was doing something with the saturation which had been totally fine to start with!

“Theon!” She said. And, for a moment, it felt like they were kids again and they were home, not in Theon’s flat in central London and Robb and he were ignoring her. God, she missed home and how things used to be!

Theon put off his glasses, ran a hand through his blonde hair, took another look at the frame on his laptop and finally turned and asked, “Why are you panicking?”

“Have you read the script?” She shot back.

Theon cocked an eyebrow. It was his best: “Don’t bullshit the king of bullshitters!” look.

“They’re already tearing me to pieces.” She said.

Theon crossed his arms over his chest; he was wearing a large grey jumper, his ratties pajamas and, apparently, he was living a moment of grunge nostalgia, judging by his hair.

“What did mum tell you?” He asked. And she was glad that he was calling her mom again. For a few years, he went through a phase where he called their parents with their given names – he still used his childbirth name on the job which had broken their father’s heart at first; but when he won his first BAFTA he was the first person Theon thanked, and to that day no one in the family had let him live that corny speech down, but she was glad to see her old Theon back.

“Mum told me to focus on the script and ignore the press –“ She said and shook her head. Her mother was a practical woman, she had been a child actress and she had a thick skin.

“What about dad?” Theon grinned and said, “Still hellbent on you sitting medical school?”

She grinned back. It was an old joke among them – the fact that their parents had wished for them to do anything but being in the business.

“No, dad told me that he would hire a publicist for me and to stop reading the internet!”

“What are you, twelve?” Theon asked.

“That’s what I told him! Then he said that I knew the solution to my problem.” She replied.

Theon shrugged, “He has a point, you know? Baratheon is a little shit, but – things will calm down.”

“Variety, Hollywood Reporter, Vulture, Vanity Fair are all sceptical about my casting, oh and don’t forget Freefolk! Tormund tore me a new one! All hail to Daenerys Stormborn’s come back – but what the fuck is Ned Stark’s daughter doing in that movie?”

“Nepotism is alive and kicking. Yep. Heard that one before.” Theon chimed in getting up from his chair (which had been a gift from Robb and her for his birthday) and went to the kitchenette.

“How did you guys do it?” She asked.

She could ask Robb – and she would, when he wouldn’t be dead on his feet after ten shows in a week and she wouldn’t feel like a bloody child!

“Well, Rob took the burnt of it, remember?” Theon answered when he got back, handing her a cup of tea.

“Is that why he doesn’t do movies?” She asked.

“Nah, he is an adrenaline junkie – always has been, theatre is what makes him tick.”

True. It was hard to reconcile the man she was seeing with the angry teenager she had grown up with. But one thing had stayed the same: Theon knew Robb better than anyone.

“And you?” She asked.

Theon sipped his tea, and seemed to ponder her question, “I’m good at my job, and I’m not a Stark, not really.”

“You are.” She said.

That was an old debate between them. She didn’t remember their parents ever treating Theon like he wasn’t their own flesh and blood. They adored him – like they loved all their children, but it was something Theon was only recently starting to come to terms with.

“I’m not brooding, Sansa – that is the truth for the press. And they never fail to mention it. But I got used to it. And you’ll get used to it too.”

“Arya wouldn’t care.” She replied with a pout.

“Arya would troll them within an inch of their lives on twitter or deck someone like she did in Greece last year,” Theon said with a smirk.

Good thing that Arya didn’t want to have anything to do with acting, directing or the showbusiness; she would still give their parents a coronary attack given how reckless she was, how she didn’t care about appearances.

Her sister was the freest person she had ever met.

“So, Daenerys took the role?” Theon asked.

She nodded. She wouldn’t meet the actors for weeks; and she knew that the studios weren’t exactly thrilled with Jon Snow’s choice and the fact that he had banded with Tyrion Lannister to have her in the movie.

“Well, at least, there’s going to be one real actress in the movie.” She said with a sugary sweet smile.

“Don’t be an idiot!” Theon said, throwing a pencil at her from his desk.

She dodged the pencil, and said, “What, it’s what everyone is saying. It’s what she is probably thinking!”

“Oh God, you _are_ twelve!” Theon groaned, he then looked at her with a serious gaze in his eyes and said, “Don’t be like that. We weren’t raised like that!”

She let out a sigh. She knew better than to assume about people. All her life people had had assumptions about her, about her family – and their parents had worked hard to let them be fair in their judgment of people.

“Sorry. I’m just –“ She trailed.

She was terrified. She had fallen in love with the script within five pages. She was lucky to have got them – she was nowhere near the level of stardom that would even let her peak at that sort of script. Being Ned Stark and Catherine Tully’s daughter opened doors for her.

That – or the fact that Tyrion Lannister had once been in the room with her when Joffrey had almost choked her to death after what had started like a playful argument.

Whatever the reason, the script had ended up in her agent’s email and then in hers.

She had fallen in love with the story and the characters and had studied hard for the screen test, harder than she had ever done – sure that she wouldn’t get the part, that someone with more experience or more beautiful or a combination of both would.

Jon Snow had been in the room – and had fed her lines. She had heard that he had done so for all the actresses that day, and she knew enough about movies to know how unheard of that was. But it had happened. Jon Snow who looked like a grizzly bear with an attitude, but had the kindest eyes she had ever seen had walked her through the screen test. She had been there. She had felt the cold, the wind, she had seen the lunar landscape described in the pages and felt the fear and outrage of her character.

 She had never felt anything like that. She had never felt more alive, more real than in the moments she had become someone else.

“I heard your screen test was phenomenal.” Theon said.

“How is it – that you always know everything about everyone?” She asked. And damn, Theon still made the best tea she had ever tasted.

Theon wiggled his eyebrows, he was her big brother, her best friend and her favourite dork. She laughed because she couldn’t help it and then said, “Please, tell me Daenerys Stormborn is not a stuck up diva.”

“No, she isn’t. But why do you care? It’s not like you’re going to share a lot of screen time.” Theon replied.

Of course, Theon had read the script – because he was someone who mattered in town, and not an absolute beginner like her.

“I mean it, sister – she’s a professional. Who did they hire for Professor. Reid?”

“Jorah Mormont.” She said with reverence.

Yes, she knew their father and Mormont had had a falling out because Ned Stark could be an uncompromising arsehole sometimes, but she had grown up watching Jorah Mormont and she was in awe that she would be in the same movie with him.

“Oh, dear…” Theon said.

That was _weird._ Her beloved brother usually swore like a sailor.

“What?” She asked.

Theon shook his head, and she knew she would have to get the answer out of him the hard way: tickling.

He saw that too because he sprinted out of his seat and she had to chase him, like when they were kids and for a while, she forgot all about Queen Alysanne, what the internet was saying about her courtesy of Joffrey’s fans, what the press was saying – it was liberating.

And she suspected that was exactly what Theon had wanted.

*

_From Hollywood Reporter:_

_Breaking: Jorah Mormont to join Daenerys Stormborn, Sansa Stark, Daario Naaris in “Good Queen Alysanne”_

_Jorah Mormont has signed up to join the cast of “Good Queen Alysanne”, which is set to start production early next month. His casting did not come as a total surprise, especially after earlier last week Daenerys Stormborn was cast in the movie._

Mormont, _is set to play Professor Reid, a pivotal role in the movie, penned by Academy Winner writer Tyrion Lannister. The drama set in both modern and past time will tell the story of Queen Alysanne Targaryen through flashbacks. Lannister who researched the Crown Archives for two years before starting to write the script has gone on record expressing his satisfaction with the casting._

_Mormont, who was last seen on the big screen in the fourth instalment of the “Silent Evil” franchise two years ago, has mostly worked in theatre for the past few years._

_** Keep Reading… ** _

*  

“Remind me again: why didn’t you pick Alysanne’s role?” Missandei asked.

Daenerys sighed, her eyes never leaving the space where her son was playing.,

“Because Sansa Stark got the role.” She replied. As she had done previously to a lot of people, until she had decided to take a break.

“And why didn’t you read for the role?” Her friend and p.a. asked.

“Because –“ She paused. That was actually a good question, one that some journalist had already asked and to which she had given a par boiled answer cooked up by her publicist because she didn’t want to antagonize Ned Stark’s daughter before even meeting her.

“Because Tyrion asked me to read for Anne.” She replied eventually. It was only partially true. That had happened after Sansa had got the part. The truth was that she hadn’t got the pages to read for Alysanne. Her moment had come and gone – and when she should have done movie after movie to consolidate her position life had had different plans for her.

So, that movie, the talk of the town, was the first good script she had got for years. She would have read for it even if it was a blink and you miss it part.

 “Don’t get me wrong – the part is good. But you should have read for Alysanne.” She said.

She smiled. Perhaps, but she loved her character and – she knew she would have to talk to Sansa Stark soon seeing as their characters were so interwoven. She would also have to stop labelling her as Ned Stark’s daughter. It was unfair. Tyrion would not have allowed her hiring if she hadn’t been good.

“So, did you talk to Mr. Mormont?” Missandei asked.

Wait – what?

The surprise must have been apparent on her face because her friend rolled her eyes and said, “Don’t you read your emails? The ones I forward you?”

She hadn’t for the past twenty four hours. She would start working soon and she wanted to relax and spend as much time with her son as possible.

“Should I have?” She asked.

“He got Professor. Reid part. Didn’t he even text you?” She said.

“You’ve got my phones, why don’t you check it out yourself?” Daenerys asked. And was surprised by the curt tone of her voice.

Missandei was too, but she knew her too well to comment on it.

“Sorry.” She said after a moment.

“He texted you.” Her friend said, as if nothing had happened, “’Looking forward to working with you again Mrs. Muir.’”

Daenerys smiled – and it felt like her real smile in a very long time. She had missed Jorah – it had surprised how much she had missed her co-star. The last time she had seen him there had been a studio meeting; they had talked about the remake of The Ghost and Mrs Muir based on their Broadway play, they had been happy and close and Tyrion Lannister had great ideas for the script and then –

And then both their lives had gone to hell in a handbasket.

They had texted from time to time, after. He had been at the funeral and she knew there was a picture out there, snapped by a paparazzo of them hugging after the funeral.

That had been the last time they had seen or touched each other. For some minor miracle, given her own problems, she hadn’t been dragged through the mud when Jorah’s life had been put into a meat grinder and fed to tabloids.

They hadn’t seen each other, however, only sparse texts through the years, which was in itself not uncommon, except that each of the text she got from him never failed to put a smile on her face or make her feel – alive, not brittle and living in a sort of limbo.

He would play Professor Reid. And – she would kill Tyrion Lannister.

_I wrote Anne with you in mind._

He had, she was sure of that and in hindsight, she should have known that no one else could play Professor Reid but Jorah and she didn’t understand why she was feeling the beginning of a panic attack just thinking about texting her old co-star back, that time.

Missandei was looking at her, she knew; she had been her p.a. for years, she was a close friend, her family – and she probably would remind her that just because there had been rumours when Jorah and her had worked together and he had bent over to protect her when both their lives had gone to hell, she should stop being childish.

The truth, however, was complicated, and she couldn’t deal with it. Not yet.

So, she replied to Jorah’s text, making sure that not even Missandei could understand how hard it was not to smile and panic at the same time.

_Captain Gregg, it will be a pleasure and an honour to work with you again. We should also meet for coffee one of these days and actually do that, this time! Mrs M-_

She let out a breath, handed back her phone to Missandei who was observing her and got up from her chair to go play with her son. She smiled, when she heard the sound of an incoming text, but she didn’t ask for the phone.


	2. The Table Reading

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But Sansa…  
> God, she was Queen Alysanne. The two women had instant chemistry and instinctively played off each other very well. They were perfect contrasts, just like their roles required and were finding a common ground before their eyes.   
> It was – amazing.   
> And he said that one aloud. Both women smiled, and if he looked at Sansa a bit longer than absolutely necessary – well, she was his leading lady and needed her director’s support.   
> He was a rubbish liar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to all the people who left kudos, comments and bookmarked the story! I'm so humbled by your positive reaction!  
> A few tidbits: I came up with the twitter names, any similarity to real nicknames is not intentional.   
> The songs mentioned in this chapter are Wrecking Ball, because Sophie singing it and crying with Maisie gave me chills and Round Midnight by Ella Fitzgerald which I cannot recommend enough.   
> I will try to post once a week, but work is crazy so, forgive me if sometimes I'll skip updates.   
> Also, I'm flying solo, I don't have a beta reader, so forgive me for any grammar mistake and weird sintaxys. English is not my language. :)  
> During Christmas break I will go back and edit what I have posted so far. Be patient.   
> As always thanks to jyia for her support and for her talent!

 

**From Twitter:**

**@joffreybaratheonismyKing:**

Sansa Stark as Queen Alysanne? For real? What – being on tabloids bored her? #wtfever 

 

 **@futureperfect21:** Well, at least somebody got something good from that tabloid clusterfuck #hint #itaintJoffrey

 

 **@daenerysismykhaleesi:** Sansa Stark is the perfect choice to play queen Alysanne. Said no one. Ever. #nepotismsucks

 

@ **jornaerysownsme: @daenerysismykhaleesi** honestly, wtf cares? We all know Anne is the mvp of the movie. Also? They’re baaaack!! #jornaerys4evr

**@smallandsexyashell:** I trust @TLannisterforReal : he’s been working on this script for fucking ever! If Sansa Stark is in the movie it means she’s right for the part. #SansaDefenceSquad #Tyrionknowshisstuff

 

@ **FireAndIce849** : @smallandsexyashell I agree, this is also Jon’s biggest film to date, he would never eff it up for Ned Stark’s daughter. #waitandfuckingsee #stanssuck

 

@ **itkTGQA** : All I’m sayin’ is this: one year from now, you’ll be eating your words. Stark was phenomenal at the screen test. Brought people to tears #iknowpeoplewhoknowpeople

**@daenerysismykhaleesi:** @itkTGQA: sure you do. #DanyshouldhaveplayedQA

 

* * *

 

**Day One**

That wasn’t his first table reading – or even his fiftieth and yet, that was probably one of the few moments of production who still genuinely gave butterflies to his stomach. The first day of a table reading was when the images in his head, the words he had written down finally took a shape, voice, faces.

He was a jaded tosser, he was very much aware of that, but there was something almost magical in the first day of table readings.

It was a clean slate: people didn’t know each other, or if they did they were on their best behaviours, diva fits were something that would occur later, directors were full of energy and even producers, with a few notable exceptions, were eager to begin.

He was also aware that he was an exception – that being a Lannister had always given him more clout than the average screen writer.

The truth was that writing “Good Queen Alysanne” had been a dream come true; he had filled notebooks with ideas for that movie for almost a decade before getting enough recognition and power on his own to having it made.

By the time the script became hot stuff, he had won awards, wrote blockbusters and had enough clout to be one of the producers of the movie.  

He looked at the people who filled the large conference room to the brim: from actors, to crew members to Baelish everyone was there, with a script in their hands, their mobile phones safely tucked away in a large safe box near the door.

Jon Snow looked like he had just had an IV of Redbull: he was hyper, pale, eyes bloodshot, but brimming with creative energy: they had been in constant touch for the past few weeks, and Tyrion wondered whether Snow was aware of how rare his approach was and how moved he was by the respect he was showing to his script.

Baelish – was there, and he could see Cersei’s hand in that move from a mile away; she was not stupid, and she knew how important that movie could be for the family, especially because her golden boy’s streak of flops was starting to get concerning. She would never set foot on a set where he was in, Baelish, however, was another matter, one that he didn’t like, but there was nothing he could do about that.

All the actors were in the room, and he didn’t regret one single choice they had made for the casting. Yes, the press and the social media were giving the poor Stark girl hell, and she looked far too pale for his liking, but after seeing her screen test, he couldn’t imagine anyone else playing Alysanne. She was wearing jeans and a white jumper; her red hair was loose on her shoulders and she was actually smiling at something Daenerys was saying.

And, not surprisingly, Jon Snow couldn’t keep his eyes off of her!

 Just like the day of her screen test, or after, when she tested with Naaris and Jon’s jaw twitched every time the man touched Sansa.

The Stark girl was completely oblivious of the fact that Snow hadn’t stopped looking at her ever since she had got in the room. Sansa was talking to Daenerys and Jorah while sipping their teas, waiting for the reading to begin.

God, he was glad to see that both Dany and Sansa were friendly toward each other; it wasn’t mandatory that actors got along, but they would have to spend a lot of time together, even if they had a very limited amount of shared screen time. He remembered how Dany, who wasn’t a diva, had been on her very best behaviour while working with Jorah; he had a calming effect on her and he wasn’t surprised in the least noticing that they were sitting side by side and it was as if no time at all had passed since they had last seen each other.

He had got a very funny text from Dany, after she became aware that Jorah had been cast as Professor Reid.

_I hope we won’t have to screen test for chemistry. By the way? You’re a dead man, Lannister! -D_

 

After his reply, she had actually called him using facetime to flip him off.

It was good to see her back, it was good to see everyone at that table, actually. He had a good feeling about that movie.

As if on cue, Baelish got up from his chair and made the honours.

Everyone at that table knew the man, and it worried him that the only one among them who didn’t know how much of a sleaze Baelish was, was their director.

He exchanged a look with Brienne and another with Davos Seaworth; both of them kept a neutral face, but he could see that they were both subtly scooting closer to both Jon and Sansa as if to protect them.

Good. That was good.

Baelish thanked them all for being there – as if he hadn’t resisted the longer table reading and rehearsals which both Jon and him had fought for – he said how happy he was with the casting – which earned him raised eyebrows even from Sansa; and he said that once the table reading was over they were welcome to be active on social media while on set, being mindful not to spoil the movie, he then pointed at Snow who introduced himself.

Yes, it had begun.

He was happy.

 

* * *

 

  ** _Transcription from a video interview given to the blog Freefolk:_**

_Description: Jon Snow is wearing black, his hair is pulled back, he’s wearing glasses, he smiles, genuinely happy when he sees Tormund. They shake hands._

_Tormund: So, Good Queen Alysanne, huh?_

_JS: I’m still pinching myself. We’re starting the table reading tomorrow, after that ten days of rehearsals – I can’t wait for it to begin!_

_T: Hold on a sec, isn’t this unusual? Ten days of rehearsal after – how long will the table readings last?_

_JS: A week. And yeah, it’s unusual, but the material demands it._

_Tormund makes a face, but Snow repeats, putting emphasis on his words: “The material demands it.”_

_T [grinning]: You have been pretty cool with the backlash surrounding the casting so far._

_JS: [his smile fades slightly] That’s because unlike many I was there during the screen tests._

_T: Yeah, I heard you were there for all the process, why?_

_JS: [shrugs] Felt like the right thing to do for this movie._

_T: you follow your gut, then._

_JS: Yes, you could say that._

_T: and your cast has been trending on Twitter for weeks. Smart move!_

_JS: [laughs] I’m not even on Twitter, you know that!_

_T: Fans went nuts when news broke that Daenerys Stormborn and Jorah Mormont had joined the cast, were you aware of how popular they were?_

_JS: I was, actually …[he grins] I was a fan. I saw their play and I couldn’t be happier about them joining the cast!_

_T: One last question: what can we expect from Sansa Stark?_

_JS: [serious] the unexpected._

* * *

 

One by one, after him, all the actors introduced themselves – he could feel the energy, the electricity among the cast and when he looked at Tyrion he was pretty sure that he might be feeling the same thing, at least judging by the satisfied smirk on his face.

Sansa was the last one who introduced herself. There was a moment of silence after she finished talking, and he looked at the young woman, realising how good she had been until that moment to hide her fear.

The press and the internet had been brutal with her, and with him by proxy. He didn’t give a toss about what people thought about him, he had a thick skin, had had to grow it very early in his life, but Sansa – she looked like she was perfectly aware of what was being said about her and feared her castmates reaction.

It didn’t come and his respect for his actors went up a notch. He didn’t even hear snide whispered remarks behind him.

Good – that meant he wouldn’t have to start firing people left and right.

He blinked. He didn’t seriously contemplate the idea of _firing_ crew members for gossiping about his lead actress, didn’t he?

He looked around, sure for one moment, that he had voiced his thoughts aloud, but he hadn’t. Tyrion was reading the opening of the script and he could see it already: he would have to talk to Davos about the photography for the opening scene and he regretted the fact that Theon Greyjoy had politely declined to be the editor for the movie. He had given him three reasons: he was already busy with two demanding projects, Baelish was the producer and he would rather get a colonoscopy than working with the bastard again and thirdly he didn’t want to add fuel to the backlash surrounding Sansa’s casting.

“Don’t be a stranger, though, mate!” Theon had said at the end of their phone call.

Samwell Tarly was their editor: he was smart, had a keen eye for details and had been editing documentaries and music videos for years. He was also very shy, but his brown eyes had lit up with enthusiasm, while Tyrion read the words.

All the actors were listening with rapt attention to Tyrion, it was more and more apparent how that script was important to him.

They discussed possibilities and he already knew he would have about a billion of meetings with the various departments who were already hard at work.

Both Sansa and Daenerys started to speak. The initial monologue – which thank God was not a piece of exposition – was played by both actresses: rehearsals and post production would take care of glitches, but right then he would know if it could work.

Sansa and Daenerys hadn’t screen tested together; he had wanted them to, but Tyrion had been adamant that they wouldn’t need to. And since he had backed him up on many of his choices, he had felt obliged to return the favour.

He had been in the middle of his second movie when he had seen Daenerys act. Ygritte had always been a fan of Jorah Mormont and while in New York she had dragged him to see their play. He knew she was a good actress.

But Sansa…

God, she _was_ Queen Alysanne. The two women had instant chemistry and instinctively played off each other very well. They were perfect contrasts, just like their roles required and were finding a common ground before their eyes.

It was – amazing.

And he said that one aloud. Both women smiled, and if he looked at Sansa a bit longer than absolutely necessary – well, she was his leading lady and needed her director’s support.

He was a rubbish liar.

* * *

 

**From the website Blind Gossip: The #1 Blind Item Site in The World.**

 

_These two actors have previously worked together. At the time both were B list verging on being A listers. Their friendship sparked rumours which were vehemently denied by one of them. Fast forward a few years, and they’re both in need of a comeback, for different reasons. Their closeness seems rekindled, only yesterday they were spotted having lunch together and looking happy. She doesn’t seem to mind the fact that her newest role is definitely below her pay grade and fame. She looked far too happy to be reunited with her former co-star._

_Said co-star seems to have weathered the **storm** surrounding his personal life. According to witnesses he looked delighted to be with his co-star and the other people in the cafè might have as well been **ghosts.**_  

_Actor:_

_Actress:_

* * *

**_From Tumblr_ **

****

**_mrandmrsMuir:_ **

****

_So this happened. Before you say it: no, I don’t have pictures, couldn’t give less of damn if you believe it or not. My sister is working at the café near the Sacred Woods studios, she’s been seeing the crew and cast of GQA since they started pre production. She hasn’t been able to get any spoilers so far (hey, remember how I told you that ‘Future Perfect’ was gonna suck ass? You’re welcome, btw), but yesterday…_

_Omg._

_Omg._

_It was late in the afternoon, she had texted me earlier in the day b_ _ecause she had heard that table reading for GQA had started in the morning. So, she recognised right away Jorah Mormont, he was wearing a black coat and a blue scarf, jeans and boots, she recognised him because – well, she is my sister and she is a saint bearing with my Jorah’s obsession. It took her a moment to recognise the woman who got in with him and sat at a table while he came with the orders._

_It was her!_

_This is not a drill!_

**_ Daenerys and Jorah had coffee together!  _ **

_Hear me out:_

  * _He ordered for her_
  * _He was super kind and even my sister had to admit that he’s hot (she says he looks hotter in person)_
  * _They had scripts with them but spent time chatting and laughing_
  * _My sister is not a shipper and thinks I’m nuts ‘cos I ship real people, but she told me, swore up and down, that one could cut the chemistry between them with a knife._
  * _Dany looks happy, her hair is long, she was wearing jeans, a jumper and a scarf (my sister told me it looked similar to the one Jorah was wearing – coincidence?)_
  * _They were super kind to the staff and didn’t have an entourage with them. It was just two mates having coffee together._
  * _I’m dying rn._



_#jornaerys #otp: mr and mrs muir #goodqueenalysanne #i will go down with this ship_

_1500 notes_

 

* * *

 

**Day 3**

 

They had had their coffee – and it had been weird, almost as if there hadn’t been three years without seeing or hearing from each other except for texts. It hadn’t been awkward because after all it was said and done, they had loved working together and the closeness between them had been real.

Coffee had become a ritual for them. Jorah told her that she should spend that time with Sansa Stark, that they should get to know each other better and he was right, he was the consummate professional, as always, but she loved those moments with him too much to give up on them.  

He had seemed contrite that morning, right before the table reading, and when it turned out that there was a blind item clearly about them, and there had been sightings of them posted on social media she had resisted the urge to burst out laughing.

Jorah had been dragged through the mud by tabloids – and he didn’t have a good relationship with social media. He chalked out the excuse of being a dinosaur, but she knew that he would not tolerate fools online as much as he didn’t tolerate them in the real world.

Yet, she hated seeing him like that: as if he had wronged her somehow.

“You know what? Sod it!” She had said before taking out her mobile phone and snapping a selfie of the two of them.

Yes, she had broken Twitter.

No, she had no regrets.

Hours later, and Jorah was still too quiet, while having tea in yet another café.

“The look on Baelish’s face was worth it.” She said, “and Sansa even commented on my Instagram, see? We’re best friends, now!”

There – he was fighting not to grin at her words.

 “Dany….” He said, there was a note of warning in his voice, but she recognised that glimmer in his eyes, and _bloody hell_ she had missed it!

 If – there wasn’t that one picture of them floating around on the internet, taken the day of her husband’s funeral, if Jorah’s name hadn’t been associated with scandals for far too long she would tell him that rumours didn’t matter, that they had nothing to hide.

She couldn’t, however – because that picture existed, because Jorah had only sued the tabloid who used it to infer that there had been something between them, out of the hundreds of terrible things that had been said about him.

She couldn’t because – he had protected her and because she had never wanted to dwell on what might have happened if things had been different.

 _Sorry Sansa._ She thought, meaning it because she liked the girl, she loved working with her – but needs must and ….

“Wait until pictures of Jon and Sansa start surfacing….” She said.

Jorah coughed and they were drawing attention to themselves, but he was also laughing so who cared?

“Dany – don’t!” He said.

“Come on…” She taunted him.

She realised that there was a syllogism in there, somewhere, but luckily Jorah ignored it. He indulged her.

“Rehearsals are going to be interesting.” He said.

“He’s going to kill Daario. He is terrified of Jon, by the way.” She commented.

Jorah chuckled, he was more relaxed, now. The worry about the apocalyptic scenario his publicist might have painted for him forgotten.

“It will be definitely an interesting shoot,” Jorah said after a moment.

She grinned. That was _her_ Jorah: always diplomatic, always the first, however, to see the big picture.

 _Her_ Jorah.

Damn, she liked the sound of that!

There were fans outside the café, there had been some of them outside the studios as well that morning, but when they got out, that time, Jorah’s smile never left his face.

 

* * *

 

 

**From Twitter:**

 

_@jonsnowdeservedanoscar: just saw Jon Snow and Sansa Stark outside the studios, they were talking under the rain, he was holding an umbrella for her #miboiwhatareyoudoing #thatcouldbeclassifiedassnuggling_

 

_@fireandice456: @jonsnowdeservedanoscar was she in a costume? Did u take any pics?_

_@jonsnowdeservedanoscar: @fireandice456 no pics and no costumes, they were just talking, there were other people as well, must have been a break or something. They look cute together tho._

_@JB4evrandevr: @jonsnowdeservedanoscar moving up the ranks, I see. #hadtheroletheoldway_

_@jonsnowdeservedanoscar: @JB4evrandevr *roll eyes*. Baratheon’s stans are pathetic, as usual._

_@JB4evrandevr: @jonsnowdeservedanoscar call things as I see them. #truthhurts_

_@jonsnowdeservedanoscar: @JB4evrandevr whatever, anyway you’re right: she did move up the ranks, anyone would be better than flop!Baratheon!_

* * *

**_From Twitter:_ **

**_Group chat: #jonsa_ **

****

**_snowismyfire:_ ** _ok, I created this chat ‘cos Baratheon’s stans are a pain in my arse and because of reasons. So @jonsnowdeservedanoscar what gives?_

**_jonsnowdeservedanoscar:_** _I don’t ship real people and there are enough nutjobs around this movie already…that said, to_ me _it looked almost as if they were snuggling._

**_sansastarkGQA:_ ** _alright, but what happened and hear, hear to the nutjobs in this fandom (too many Baratheon fucking trolls!)_

**_jonsnowdeservedanoscar:_ ** _what I said: I was passing by (almost, more like stalked outside the studios #dontjudge) and saw the whole cast and crew getting out into limos, only Jon, Sansa and some other people I don’t know stayed outside and waited for another car. They were talking, he was holding the umbrella and they look cute together._

**_Khaleesiandqueen:_ ** _define cute *grins*_

**_jonsnowdeservedanoscar:_ ** _Hmm…friendly, he was wearing glasses and was all wet because the umbrella was small and he was holding it_ _over her and she is so thin and fuck, yeah, it only lasted a moment, but they looked cute together._

**_sansastarkGQA:_ ** _the barafreaks will tear her a new one if word gets out…_

**_jonsnowdeservedanoscar:_ ** _should I delete my tweet?_

**_Khaleesiandqueen:_ ** _lol, u kidding, right?_

**_snowismyfire:_** _too late, but let’s keep things under wraps for now. Btw, does any of you guys know_ @ **itkTGQA**?

 

**_jonsnowdeservedanoscar:_ ** _nope, read some of their tweets, but don’t know if they’re legit_

**_sansastarkGQA:_ ** _what does ITK mean?_

**_jonsnowdeservedanoscar:_ ** _in the know. They claim to have a source in production, but don’t know if it’s legit and at this stage they could talk out of their ass for all we know._

**_snowismyfire:_ ** _I will dm them later, see what they are willing to tell…_

* * *

 

 

**Day 6**

 

 Her father once had told her that he knew things were going well and the movie he was in wouldn’t probably crash and burn if he was actually happy to say yes to go and have drinks with his castmates and crew at the end of the week.

Her mother had rolled her eyes at that statement, citing all the casts she knew that had gotten along like houses on fire and their movies had, nonetheless, been flops.

It had been Bronn’s idea. He was Tyrion’s PA, and she had known him for years, he had told her, once, after one of Joffrey’s “episodes” to wake up and dump the little sod before she ended up dead.

He had been brusque, but his eyes had been kind.

Everyone had accepted, which had surprised her, to be frank. They had all been joined at the hips since the table reading began, and she knew they would spend even more time together during rehearsal, yet no one had declined the offer.

No one had commented on the fact that Bronn had waited for Baelish to leave the table reading before proposing to go out for drinks.

“Ground rules,” Tyrion had said, “turn off your bloody phones, no selfies, no drunk tweeting and for the love of Christ, no flirting in front of fans!”

There had been good natured snickers at his last remark, and she had looked at Dany and Jorah who had looked ahead of them completely nonplussed, oblivious of how most of the crew and castmates had been looking at Jon and her.

Lannisters didn’t do things halfway; she knew that; but Tyrion had gone above and beyond the line of duty, because they had a whole pub reserved for them for the night.

She was exhausted – and they hadn’t even started rehearsal, yet. They were supposed to just read the script, making notes and brainstorming ideas, in reality, however, they were already rehearsing.

Jon put up some token protest, at first, saying he had still work to do, but then Tyrion rolled his eyes, pointed at Brienne who playfully whacked him behind his head and her director, who had been a pain in the arse all week burst out laughing, raised his hands in mock surrender and joined them.

And for some reason they were the last ones to get outside, under a pouring rain, and since they were the only ones without P.As they were stuck waiting for the driver together.

“Be a movie director, they said…” John muttered, and Sansa smirked when Jon continued, “It will be fun, they said. You’ll be the boss on set, they said…”

“Sweet child of summer…” She sing-sang, ignoring both the way he was holding her at him under the umbrella and his snort, and how his warm breath felt against her temple.

He chuckled and said, “You’re the leading lady, where’s your entourage?”

“My parents threatened to disown me if I ever got an entourage.” She replied, battling her eyelash – and wait a bloody minute, what was she doing?

Jon, however, thank God, was so tired, that he didn’t notice that she had just flirted with him because he asked, genuine curiosity in his voice, “Why?”

“It’s a long and boring story and my parents are weird.” She replied and, technically, nothing of what she had said was a lie.

Jon, blinked and then realization hit him because he said, “Your aunt.”

“And my paternal uncle, and family friends. My dad is still praying that I quit the madness and go be a doctor.”

 What the hell? Why was she telling him that? No one outside her family knew that. Not even Maergery!

Yet John frowned, “Why on Earth? You are a brilliant actress, Sansa!”

That was not Robb, Theon or Arya – it was not her family telling her that she was good. It was her director and it had been a long week and she still feared that Dany would start being a bitch and tell her that she didn’t deserve her part.

It was her director, one she admired, whose career she had been following with interest telling her that she was good.

She was close to tears, but Starks never cried in public if they could help it.

“So, no second thoughts?” She said, instead of pleading him to tell her that he meant it.

“On going out tonight? Yeah, on choosing you? Never.” Jon said – and he had a way of being solemn when he spoke and sweet at the same time that she found very endearing.

“Come on, I’ll buy you a drink!” She said, only realizing in that moment, that they weren’t truly alone, that other people were waiting for the cars.

“Nope, Lannister is gonna buy us drinks, he promised. Besides, we had a wager going on…” Jon said.

Cold sweat ran down her spine.

_A wager…_

No. Jon was not Joffrey, he was not – one of his asshole friends.

“Hmm?” She enquired, satisfied of how casual her voice sounded.

“I’ll drink him under the table…” John said grinning as the car finally approached.

“Jon, I have seen Tyrion drink –“ Sansa trailed.

“Oh,” He said, gesturing her inside the car, “sweet child of summer – “

She smiled, and suddenly she didn’t feel so tired any longer.

 

* * *

 

 

**Texts between Tyrion Lannister and Missandei.**

 

_MisMis: that was a low blow, Lannister –_

_Tyrion:_ why, _thank you! Do you have pics for posterity?_

_MisMis:_ Duh _! But really, the car switch thing? The seating at the tables?_

_Tyrion: I want the pictures, don’t put them on clouds, delete them after._

_MisMis: do I look like an amateur to you?_

_Tyrion: you look fabulous, as ever._

_MisMis: I’m wearing my old uni_ pyjamas _and I’m hungover_

_Tyrion: still…._

_Tyrion: SEND THE BLOODY PICTURES!_

_MisMis: which part of “I’m hungover” you didn’t get, genius? :P, there, sent. Now what?_

_Tyrion: now we wait._

*

 

**Day 7**

He was too old for that shit.

Not acting, never that – not even being drunk under the table by his director or the writer/producer of the movie he was making.

No.

It was sitting next to Dany all night wishing he was younger and looking at her like a lovesick teenager, trying desperately not to get noticed by his colleagues and the crew members.

He had almost said no to Tyrion when he offered him the part of Professor Reid, even if he needed the money and a role that wasn’t a bidimensional villain in some cgi ridden movie. He had almost said no when Tyrion had told him who would play Anne because Dany deserved better; but for once, in the end, he had been selfish.

He had loved working with Dany: their chemistry had been effortless, they had had fun working together and even if they had been both aware that the energy (the _bloody Stormborn+Mormont_ effect!) between them hadn’t been strictly professional, they had always stayed the hell away from temptation.

Now, however, things were different – and he was scared.

He was definitely too old for that shit.

He was too old to fall in love again, with the same woman he had tried so hard not to love three years before and had only partially succeeded in it.

He loved his character, he loved the relationship between Anne and Professor Reid, specular and yet so different to the one Queen Alysanne and her husband had.

He loved how Dany was welcoming him every day with a smile and how genuine it always was. He loved that she was smiling again, after Drogo. He loved that they were having coffee together every day and she forced him not to care about what fans and journalists and paparazzi might think or do.

He loved that he was enjoying his job again – and that he genuinely wanted that movie to be a success, not for his career, but for Dany’s, for Jon, for Sansa, who was a remarkable woman and an amazing actress.

He loved that he was hungover and he could smell Dany’s perfume on his clothes, because after drinking for most of the evening, by the end of it she had dozed off against his shoulder, but before she did she had sung "Wrecking Ball" with Sansa (and they were scarily in sync together) getting cat calls and loud cheers and then, after Sansa had got off the stage (and had been seated right next to Jon because Tyrion Lannister wouldn’t know how to be subtle if his life depended on it), she had sung an old jazz song, one she knew he loved because they used to listen to it together in his dressing room three years before.

 

 _Darlin' I need you, lately I find_ __  
You're out of my heart,  
And I'm out of my mind.  
Let our hearts take wings'  
'round midnight, midnight  
  
  


Yes, _bloody hell, yes!_ He was far too old for that shit, and yet he closed his eyes, Dany’s perfume still lingering on his shirt and smiled.

They were leaving for Belfast to shoot their movie, and he was terrified and he didn’t remember ever feeling so happy in his life.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record: I love and adore both Sansa and Dany, for very different reasons:)


	3. The Rehearsal (part 1) and the picture that broke the internet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our heroes go to Belfast and fandom reacts accordingly. Tyrion posts a selfie and hell breaks loose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who left kudos, bookmarked the fic, left comments - I'm speechless, truly!   
> Special thanks to @Jyia because she has amazing ideas, she is endlessly patient with me and she's all around special.  
> Another thank you to @Kat_of_a_Different_Color for the kudos and to @fioredargento because she is my constant and touchstone:)  
> Also: trigger warning for past abuse and sexist remarks (guys, it's Joffrey:)

 

 

 

**From _Melisandre Gossip: Celebrity Gossip, News, Photos, Rumours_**

**_Good Queen Alysanne cast and crew spotted in Belfast – as rehearsals for the movie start this week._ **

_I admit it, I’m still sceptical about Sansa Stark and her casting as Queen Alysanne, but boy, does she look good! She looked in good spirits – and so did all the cast and crew spotted at Belfast International this morning, perhaps it is also due to the private party held a few days ago to celebrate the end of the table reading._

_Word is that Lannister had a whole pub reserved for the cast and crew, however some loose-lipped staff member revealed how much fun the cast has had that night._

_While in the pictures you see of the cast at the airport Dany and Sansa walked together, I’ve been told that they spent the whole evening with other people._

_No worries, though – according to my sources the two ladies are getting along like a house on fire._

_So, Stormborn won’t be too disappointed when all the director’s attention will be focused elsewhere, there is the added bonus that her mind is set on something (someone) else._

_Watch this space: Belfast is possibly going to become love central very soon!_

* * *

 

**_From Twitter:_ **

****

_**@jonsnowdeservedanoscar:** Rehearsals for GQA started today. Can we talk about how freaking cool the cast is? Those pictures are awesome! #yourfavesweillnever #jonmiboiulookgoood _

_@ **SansaAlysanne01** : I want Sansa’s coat!!! How tall is she btw? Dany looks so small next to her. #girlpower #gqa _

_**@snowismyfire: @jonsnowdeservedanoscar** omg I’ve just seen the pictures, and the Oscar for the most awesome cast goes to…#gqa_

_**@jornaerysownsme:** is there an embargo on Jorah and Dany pics? WTF paparazzi? You had one job!! #jornaerys #gqa_

_**@MadforJoff:** of course she would get papped next to Daenerys Stormborn. She is a pro at this **@JoffreyBaratheonAuthentic** I feel ya, but what were you thinking?_

_**@JoffreyBaratheonAuthentic: @MadforJoff** Be kind, girls. To answer your question? I wasn’t, clearly. _

_**@jonsnowdeservedanoscar:** Aaand my timeline shows, once again, how much Darwin was right #fuckthisshit #SansaDefenceSquad _

_**@MadforJoff: @jonsnowdeservedanoscar** aaaw, I’ll be kind, just like I’ve been asked. #yourfavewillnever_

_**@jonsnowdeservedanoscar: @MadforJoff** my fave has actually a career, he doesn’t have time to indulge his little sheep ;) #peaceout #blockingassholes_

* * *

 

**_From Twitter_ **

**_Group chat #jonsa_ **

**_snowismyfire:_ ** _so, did you guys read Melisandre’s column that went with the pics? Can I say that I flailed when I saw the pictures? Omfg!_

**_jonsnowdeservedanoscar_ ** _: yep – but that’s pretty vague, isn’t it?_

**_sansastarkGQA:_ ** _vague my ass – it implies clearly that Jon has the hots for Sansa and Dany for --- Jorah? I guess? Idk, their corner of fandom is happyland right now. Maybe they know something we don’t._

**_fireanice856:_ ** _just to be clear – we are here to talk about stuff without Baratheon’s stans trolling us (they’re being assholes on tumblr and Instagram too btw) or…? #isconfused_

**_snowismyfire:_ ** _the supposed itk finally dmed me back. They did it *before* Melisandre’s column went up, I’ll screenshot the whole thing later cos I can’t do it right now, I’ll copy/paste what they told me. I swear that the time stamp of when they answered me was way before Melisandre’s column went up. Do you want to read what they said? I mean, if you’re not interested that’s okay._

**_khaleesiandqueen:_ ** _why not…as long as it stays here, I don’t want the Baratheon psychos anywhere near Sansa or Dany._

**_Jonsnowdeservedanoscar:_ ** _go for it, bb_

**_snowismyfire:_ ** _ok…here it goes_

**snowismyfire:** hi there, thank you for following me back! I’ve been reading your tweets, and well, sorry if they’re giving you hell but fwiw, I’m interested in what you’re willing to share, especially about Jon (and also Sansa?) #desperatefanisdesperate

 

 **itkTGQA:** you’re welcome. I don’t care if they believe me, facts are all that matter. I can tell you that, as far as I know, the table reading went really well, better than expected: they are all getting along famously. I can tell you that Sansa Stark will blow everyone away if she is half as good as she was during the table reading.

 **itkTGQA** : Snow is a wildcard, meaning that from what I’ve been told, he’ll tell the studios to fuck off if they interfere too much. The ladies are friendly toward each other, that’s just not an act on Instagram. The whole cast and crew went to a pub  after they wrapped the table reading, they had a lot of fun, I expect some gossip column will pick up on that, but mostly it was just a group of people having fun, singing and drinking.

 **itkTGQA:** mostly;)

 

 

**_snowismyfire:_ ** _they (he? She? Idk) knew about the pub…and the last thing they wrote got me thinking._

**_jonsnowdeservedanoscar:_ ** _they will be stuck with rehearsals, but they will have to go out at some point – and we will have pics from set soon. We need someone in Belfast, like now!_

**_Khaleesiandqueen:_ ** _if I can add someone to the groupchat? I know a couple of Dany fans from Belfast…fair warning: they ship Jorah/Dany something fierce!_

* * *

 

 

**Rehearsals: Day One**

Jon Snow was a crazy bastard. At least that was the common consensus after he explained, in detail, his idea for the shooting. She had been on enough sets growing up to know that either Jon was the new Stanley Kubrick or that it would become a logistic nightmare.

He was a crazy bastard, but he was also a crazy _convincing_ bastard. What he wanted would require Dany and her to work side by side on most scenes, even if they had only one scene “together” in the script.

Alysanne and Anne were mirror images of each other so, according to Jon, in order to achieve that, they would have to be actual mirrors to each other all the bloody time!

Tyrion was ecstatic, it was exactly what he had had in mind while writing the script. John had shrugged and had given him what she had come to decipher as his, “Eh, I know, it’s what I do for a living” look. It was cute.

Also, and that was something that had prompted her to actually text her parents, they had all been asked to feed lines to each other. Her father had given her a thumb ups emoji as a reply (and when did he learn to use emojis anyway?), her mother had replied with a long audio message which could be summed up with: suck it up and trust your director. And the thing was that no one had objected! That was _unusual._

Crazy ideas notwithstanding she was excited: the sets were almost ready, she was wearing a gown and a corset to practice walking in those death traps; it felt like they had begun, for real.

The large room chosen for the day was warm and everyone was taking place and getting comfortable while they were prepping for the first scene: it was one of the first scenes of the movie and either Dany and her would keep getting along or they would end up killing each other by the end of the shooting. She hoped for the former because she genuinely liked Dany. She wasn’t a stuck-up diva, she had a wicked sense of humour and she genuinely loved the movie. 

Dany was in a corner of the room, on the phone (which she would have to give to her p.a., after), Jorah who wasn’t even required for rehearsal until after lunch break was there anyway, sitting on a chair, not far from Dany, reading a book about Queen Alysanne.

She had done her homework; her hotel room was filled with books she had brought with her about the Queen and her life; all the titles had been suggested by Tyrion who was a history junkie; Daario was in another corner of the room, chatting with some crew members.

Brienne was there as well, all brisk professionalism, she was their line producer and Theon had told her that she had a reputation for being demanding, hard working and tough as nails.

He had grinned and added, “She’s a woman so, of course, she has the reputation of being a bitch on wheels. Just hit your mark, don’t forget your lines, don’t do lines in your trailer and you’ll be fine!”

He had laughed when she had flipped him off, but she had felt better. She had skyped with Arya the night before and they had talked for hours until she had told him that she had mentioned Jon, “like, a million times”.

“He’s my director,” She had replied.

Arya had cocked an eyebrow, crossed her arms over her chest and said, “Right, because mum and dad talk about their directors all the bloody time, oh, wait!”

Luckily, her sister had let it go, mostly because she had been dead on her feet, but she wasn’t wrong.

Well, not totally wrong.

Thankfully Baelish was not with them, he wouldn’t join them until they were shooting the movie, and the air felt lighter. Everyone she knew had warned her about Baelish: her parents, Theon, Robb – even Maergery.

Well, she _knew_.

Tyrion cleared his throat after Dany finished her phone call and then said, “Before we begin and Jon will become public enemy number one around here and we all hate each other’s guts, let’s take a selfie!”

He handed his mobile phone to a crew member and directed them to hit their mark.

That was the reason why (even later, much later, even after the mess that picture would cause, she would stick to that story) she ended up next to Jon, his arm draped around her waist and hers around his, smiling like loons because Tyrion said, “Imagine Baelish’s face when we stick it up to him!”

 They were all snuggled up to each other, close, like friends – like a family and she was afraid because for the first time in a very long time she was truly, genuinely _happy._

She had no idea, none whatsoever, about what that picture would cause.

 

* * *

 

**From Twitter:**

_@ **TLannisterforReal** : greetings from Belfast! First day of rehearsal is starting. Say hi to our cast, most of which, is allergic to social media! #GoodQueenAlysanne #day1 #amazingpeople #JorahMormont #JonSnow aka #grumpydirectorextraordinnaire #SansaStark **@DanyStormborn4Real @officialDaarioNaharis** _

**_@MaergeryTyrellOfficial: **.**_ ** _**@TLannisterforReal .@DanyStormborn4real** . @officialDaarioNaharis **** ****: you guys look amazing! Retweeting for posterity  #proudofSansa_

* * *

 

**From Huffpost:**

**First behind the scenes picture of the cast of Good Queen Alysanne goes viral on social media.**

The shooting of Good Queen Alysanne hasn’t even started, yet, and the cast has been steadily trending on social media for weeks. Tyrion Lannister earlier this morning posted a selfie with the cast and part of the crew with the hashtag #day1.

Needless to say, the selfie broke the internet. Lannister’s tweet has been retweeted roughly 500.000 times, thus making #GoodQueenAlysanne trend worldwide.

Why did the cybersphere lost it, however?

Let’s examine the selfie together, shall we?

Tyrion Lannister who doesn’t usually post pictures on his social media is smiling widely, behind them there are Jon Snow, the director of the movie, with his trademark black attire and glasses, holding Sansa Stark who is wearing a pale blue gown and a corset of the same colour; she is the only one wearing a costume. They are both smiling and, let’s admit it! Don’t they look like a cute couple at the prom?

On their right, next to line producer Brienne Tarth, we see Davos Seaworth ( the director of photography), but it’s impossible not to notice Daenerys Stormborn, sporting a brunette hairdo, a blue jumper and jeans, and Jorah Mormont, wearing glasses and a camel jacket hugging it out for all it’s worth.

It looks like they are all happy to be in the same room together.

Fans have been cropping and photoshopping the pictures for hours – and for today, Good Queen Alysanne is the most talked about movie of the year.

Take that, Marvel!

 

* * *

 

 

**From Tumblr:**

**mrandmrsMuir:**

_Is this real life? *looks around*_

_No, seriously, the picture. It’s like the gift that keeps on giving. And I’m officially out of fucks to give about the fact that I ship real people because – look at the damn picture, guys! Look at the smiles! When was the last time we saw Dany smile like that? Or Jorah, for that matter?_

_Look at how Jorah holds her \diesamilliontimes_

_Those are not mates taking a selfie together, look at how she leans her head on his shoulder, how personal space is something they haven’t ever heard of (seriously, there was like a mile of space available, but no – they had to stand that close together, for reasons? I guess?)_

_So, to sum it up for the past couple of weeks we’ve had:_

  * _A selfie from our Khaleesi, where they both look happy (Jorah looked a bit like a bear with that beard, but whatever)_
  * _Sightings, lots and lots of sightings of the two of them – one of which was witnessed by my sister (see post)_
  * _A blind item that was **clearly** about them. _



_And shooting hasn’t even started yet._

_#jornaerys #otp: mr and mrs muir  #good queen alysanne_

**_KhaleesiForEver_ ** _:_

_It’s just a picture **@mrandmrsMuir**. There were a lot of people and they are paid to smile to the camera. Also, remember what happened the last time people went nuts over them? Remember the other picture? Show them some respect, and leave them the hell alone!_

_#jornaerys #good queen alysanne #stop shipping real people it’s not a game_

****

**_mrandmrsMuir_ ** _:_

**_@KhaleesiForEver_** _– look, I have never, ever reblogged_ that _picture, because it was stolen on what was probably the worst day of Dany’s life. If you remember we, as fandom, decided not to reblog, post and retweet it because it sucked, it was a private moment that some scum stole. It is not the fucking same thing! Whatever they do on their own freewill (re: stuff they post themselves, stuff they approve is posted) is fair game. I’m not going to tag Dany or to harass Jorah. So, stop policing my thoughts. I’m just in my little corner of the internet flaliling because my two favourite actors, and, yes, fuck it, my otp is back working together and they look cute af and happy to be together. Are they pretending? I don’t think so, but whatever …_

_**ProfReid &Anne:** @ **KhaleesiForEver** and @ **mrandmrsmuir** : sorry to piggyback your post and I won’t get into this, but I’m curious: which picture are you guys talking about? I’m a newbie._

_12.500 notes_

 

 

* * *

 

From **Scoop Online** :

**What our body language expert has to say about the picture that broke the internet!**

 

The cast of “Good Queen Alysanne” has been steadily trending on social media ever since production began. There are still voices against Sansa Stark’s casting as the titular character, but fans have been going nuts over the few pictures that have been posted for the past ten days.

Three days ago Tyrion Lannister broke the internet when he tweeted a selfie of the cast of the movie right before rehearsal started. The numbers of likes and retweets are by now in the six digits and everyone, even by osmosis has now seen the picture.

We have asked our resident expert on body language, the psychologist Dr Shae to take a look at the infamous selfie and that’s what she has to say about the  picture  but, mostly about the people in them that caused it to go viral: Jon Snow and Sansa Stark and Danaeris Stormborn

Dr Shae:  

Jon Snow - Sansa Stark: they are clearly comfortable with each other. The relaxed posture and the way their feet are angled clearly infer a measure of trust between them; they are both smiling to the camera, Snow, however, shows his teeth, and the microexpressions of his face show that he was relaxed and happy to take the picture; Stark’s smile is more guarded, but the way her body inches closer to Snow’s shows that there is a closeness between them.

Also, notice the way they are holding each other: Snow’s fingers are entirely curled around Stark’s waist, which denotes a level of possessiveness, yet his touch is gentle and he angles his body almost in a protective stance. Stark’s fingers are curled around Snow’s waist, but we cannot see all the fingers. There is some hesitation in her gesture.

Daenerys Stormborn – Jorah Mormont: they are clearly at ease with each other, there is enough familiarity between them that they stand closer than any other people in the selfie. Mormont’s hand is splayed on Stormborn’s back, it shows, again, a level of familiarity and closeness. He’s leaning down to accommodate her height and her arm is drooped around his shoulder making their cheeks touch. Both of them are smiling. What I found peculiar is how their feet are angled: specular to each other, this shows support and an equal relationship.

 

Dr Shae, didn’t comment further or speculate on the status of the actors’ relationships, what is clear to everyone, however, is that both the Mormont+Stormborn effect is as strong as ever and the internet has found another couple to love. The hashtag #jonsa has become increasingly popular for the past few days.

Shooting for Good Queen Alysanne is set to start in ten days. What else can we expect from the cast?

 

* * *

 

 

That _bitch_. That stupid, worthless cow!

She had dumped him, told him that she would call the police if he ever touched her again, went off to her family’s mansion and then started to act!

She had said, over and over, that she didn’t care about fame, she had whined when they were papped together (and yes, even he had got tired of that, but it had been a necessary evil!) and there she was – in the movie that was the talk of the town! A movie he needed! He would have made great things in it, he would have been a great Jaehaerys! But no! Sansa had got the part and everyone had told him that reading for Jaehaerys was impossible and the part had gone to that cardboard stud no one cared about!

That stupid, ungrateful slut!

That fucking picture was everywhere! It popped up on his google alerts, on Twitter, on Instagram, even on facebook!

The happy cast of the motherfucking movie of the year all snuggled up together like a happy family!

He opened the picture again after he poured himself another glass of vodka.

Tyrion, his uncle – that _freak_ had chosen Sansa over him! He had known he needed a good movie, he had taunted him about Future Perfect and there he was beaming at the camera with his perfect cast and his perfect little slut!

Jon Snow. He had briefly met him the year before at the Golden Globes, he had expressed an interest in working with him and Snow had smiled and thanked him and then had walked out on him.

He had fucking walked out on him!

On Joffrey Baratheon!

Sansa – oh, she was beautiful, he wouldn’t have wasted so much time with her stupid ass if she wasn’t so beautiful: pale skin, red hair, those eyes and that mouth.

 God, that mouth –

(bleeding – he had liked it when she bled from her mouth, her white perfect teeth stained with red, the splits on her lips, how quickly her eyes filled with tears)

And there he was, Snow, right to her side, an arm draped around her waist as if it belonged there and Sansa was –

How about that.

He downed another glass of vodka.

What the morons on social media weren’t getting was that Sansa was a newcomer only in name. The only thing they truly had in common was that they had grown up in the business so they had known, since childhood, how to take pictures in public, how to act on red carpets, how to model their body language for the camera.

Also, he knew Sansa.

He knew what she looked like when she was smiling for the camera because she had to and when she smiled because she felt it, she knew how she looked like when she was in heat.

Fuck, he needed more vodka. He grinned, opening twitter.

Oh, that was going to be fun!

 

* * *

 

**From Twitter**

_@ **JoffreyBaratheonAuthentic** : loved the selfie, uncle @ **TLannisterforReal**. You fellas look happy and cosy. Very cosy. Good for you #SansaStark and #JonSnow you look positively glowing together!_

 

_**@JoffreyBaratheonAuthentic:** As someone who has been accused of getting roles because of nepotism, I absolutely resent similar remarks about Sansa. She didn’t get the role because she is Ned Stark’s daughter. There are many ways in which a young, beautiful actress, with no experience and virtually no resume, can get a starring role in such a production. Well, if one excludes talent (lol) and luck (lol)…._

_**@JoffreyBaratheonAuthentic** As Sherlock Holmes said: once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable must be the truth. I think I know what the truth is. _

* * *

 

 

**Day 3 of Rehearsal**

 

 Considering that Sansa and Dany had met for the first time a little over a week before, it was almost scary how in synch they were and it was just the third day of rehearsals. The first couple of days had been fun, exhausting, they had eaten Chinese takeout and pizzas together, and all pesky things like trailers and looking at the watch had been forgotten.

It was a first for him; there was something in the air – everyone wanted that movie to succeed, they were getting along and they were having fun.

Rehearsing with Dany had been easy, so far – they had fallen into their rhythm right away and it had been mostly a matter of changing a few lines here and there, listening to Jon’s suggestions and then just – become Professor Reid and Anne.

Watching Sansa and Dany act together was fascinating. They had different approaches to the craft, different natures and yet the common ground they had found during the table reading was translating in the rehearsal.

The scene they were rehearsing would take place very early in the movie (because Snow, among other things, wanted the movie to be shot as much as possible in sequence), both the Queen and Anne would go through the process of waking up and getting ready for the morning. Each would get in the other’s space and when Snow had shown them the storyboard it had looked remarkable, how it would translate on screen was another matter altogether.

Dany and Sansa would have to be perfectly coordinated, there could be no room for mistakes, not if he wanted to show Anne’s descent into the Queen's mind and how their storylines were deeply connected. 

Jon was in the middle of the room, together with Brienne who had two stopwatches and would time how in synch the two women were.

  Both roles required a great deal of technique and Jon was there, to guide both women.

No one uttered a sound when Jon counted up to three and the two women started the scene.

They opened their eyes together, Sansa ran a hand through her hair with her right hand, Dany repeated the movement, a moment later, with her left one.

She would have to do everything left-handed, at least in her scenes with Sansa.

He liked how Jon was coaxing the actresses: his voice was firm but gentle, he had a very keen eye for details, but he mostly was following Sansa’s gestures.

 “Now, move to your left and turn –“ Jon said getting close to Dany.

The two women stopped, hugged their arms to their chests and moved toward each other.

One was tall, thin, with long red hair, the other was small and a brunette, they couldn’t be more different and yet, here, under his eyes, they were becoming one.

There was a thin line between period drama and gothic tale and Jon Snow had the daunting task of walking it, without making it unmarketable for Award Season. That much had been clear since the first day. Baelish had been adamant about it.

Tyrion, however, looked satisfied. He had written a beautiful script about two strong women, one a powerful iconic historical figure and the other a woman who lived and felt what the other had felt.

It was a sight to behold, and if it wasn’t that he already loved Dany, he would start right now. The press thought that the role of Anne was below her, they didn’t have a clue.

There would be no cheap mirror tricks, in fact, there would be no mirrors at all.

Dany was now repeating a gesture Sansa had done, and Jon was patiently waiting for her to get it right. Having so much time to rehearse before shooting was a luxury they were lucky they had been afforded and both women didn’t want it to go to waste.

“Now, turn your back to each other – and remember: five steps!” Jon said, sparing a look at Brienne who nodded.

So far, so good.

And it was only the third day. Sansa had stopped being terrified of Dany and they were getting along, spending time mimicking each other and it was funny and endearing to watch.

Well, he supposed he was biased, but then again, so was his director.

Both women started to unrobe next to their respective bathtubs and Jon halted them.

Sansa looked at Jon expectantly, but he was _shocked_ when Dany looked at him.

He smiled at her and nodded and Dany beamed at him.

Christ, that woman would be the death of him!

“Very good –“ Brienne said, “Almost perfect, scene should be shorter, though,”

Jon nodded, “Alright, we’ll go through this again later, Sansa we’ll rehearse scene six later, Jorah? The library scene is next!”

He nodded and Dany and Sansa high fived each other.

That was – weird. Too weird. He had been on nice sets, where actors got along and egos got checked at the door, they were rarities but it had happened; he had never been on a set like that – he had never felt like he was _home_ where he wouldn’t have to lie through his teeth spouting off some horse shit about how they were a family.

They weren’t. They were _close_ , however – or Tyrion had personally handpicked the cast knowing they would get along like that.

Sansa didn’t leave the stage, no one did – she sat on her chair and started _knitting._ The leading lady of what was becoming the most anticipated movie of the year never left the stage because she was always ready and willing to help and spent her spare time knitting.

That was _madness._

And that was when Oberyn Martell got in the room, ignoring the keep out sign and interrupted them.

Oberyn Martell was – Tyrion’s biggest fight behind the scenes with the executives. He had wanted a PR genius who wouldn’t necessarily suck it up to either Cersei Lannister-Baratheon or Petyr Baelish.

The fact that Martell had a history of fighting with the Lannisters had worried him, at first, but the man and Tyrion were good friends and he had learned to trust both men years before.

“The fuck are you doing here?” Both Jon and Brienne asked at the same time.

He would have smiled if he didn’t know intimately the look on Martell’s face. Dany had gotten close to him (well, closer) and an unnatural silence had fallen in the room.

“We have a problem!” Martell said.

He showed them his iPad. And yes, they had a problem: Joffrey Baratheon had all but said that Sansa had got the part because she had slept with Jon and every tabloid in the world, in less than an hour, had picked up the story.

The selfie, which had been something nice, a picture he had actually downloaded on his telephone, taken in a moment of quiet and peace, among people who were starting to genuinely care about each other had just become something dirty, a weapon to be used against a girl.

Sansa had paled, covering her mouth with her hand, her body rigid with fury, Tyrion was swearing up a storm. Dany looked angry on Sansa’s behalf, mostly – and because like whoever had had the misfortune of ever meeting or working with Joffrey Baratheon she knew he was an utter shit of a human being.

Jon, on the other hand, was silent.

He usually had kind eyes, but what he saw in his director’s dark gaze was fury.

“Is that all?” Jon asked, his voice pure ice.

Martell nodded, it was clear he wanted to say more, perhaps planning something right away, but it was clear that was not Jon’s plan.

He said, “Get the hell out of my set, we’ll talk later!” but he was positive that the, “I will fucking kill Joffrey Baratheon” was clear as day between the lines.

“Jon, I –“ Sansa trailed.

“Scene six, later,” Jon replied, his voice hard, but his eyes, once again, kind, when he looked at her.

Sansa nodded, and she was her father’s daughter because she didn’t cry, her eyes were dry – but the way her shoulders slumped as she walked back to her chair spoke volumes.

Martell was talking to Tyrion, in the farthest corner of the stage, and he recognised right away the look in both men’s faces: Joffrey Baratheon had just made the biggest mistake of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in a week, I know - next chapter will be set in the past, so....sorry for the cliffhanger:)  
> Also, I can't stress it enough: I love both Sansa and Dany :)


	4. You see, I take the parts that I remember and stitch them back together (part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Joffrey's tweets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter kicked my ass, also due to its length I broke it into two chapters - so, double update:)  
> Thank you everyone for the kudos, bookmarks and comments!

**Jon – Now - I**

His first instinct, the lizard part of his brain, was to just throw the mobile phone against the nearest wall so that he wouldn’t have to deal with all the messages, alerts and missed phone calls he had got since the press – tabloids and entertainment magazines alike– had picked up on Joffrey Baratheon’s tweets and started spinning stories.

Despite what he had asked him, Martell had not left – he had stayed in the room, observing everyone like a hawk, typing madly and silently on his tablet, while they kept rehearsing. He hadn’t taken it personally, and hadn’t asked him to leave again, not when things had started to escalate.

 “The show must go on” was a sad and unavoidable truth of their job. So, he had kept his mind focused on the movie and its rehearsal and he was immensely proud of his cast and crew because they had been impeccable.

Sansa had been pitch-perfect: laughing because it was required in the script, flirting with Daario because it was what Queen Alysanne was supposed to do, even if she had put away her knitting stuff and had spent a considerable long time staring at the scenes rehearsing before her, without truly seeing them.

He had not thrown his mobile anywhere, it was still in his pocket, he suspected its battery was fucked and he wanted to faceplant on his bed and forget everything.

He couldn’t.

He could still hear the few words he had caught while getting into the studio’s car because of fucking course paparazzi were swarming the place:

 

_“Did she suck you off?”_

_“Did she take it to the ass? I bet she liked it, didn’t she? Did she rim you?”_

_“I heard she likes it rough – does she like it rough?”_

_“Does she peg you? I bet she pegs you!”_

 

Until that day, his experiences with paparazzi had been cordial, all things considered. He was, after all, a boring person: he didn’t like parties, he didn’t like to show off his private life (what private life? He had been a fucking monk for the past couple of years!),  he didn’t go to the opening of envelopes just to be seen. He did the bare minimum required for his job.

He was a director, not a bloody superstar!

Martell, and even Dany and Jorah had warned him about what to expect when they got out of the studios. No one had needed to warn Sansa because she had been there before, she had already known what to do and how to act, which had broken his heart a little.

Security had escorted her out, she hadn’t worn sunglasses (because only douches wore them at night), she hadn’t worn headphones – she had just walked: head held up high, a scarily blank look on her face and she had listened to the same stuff he had – perhaps worse. And if there were going to be pictures or videos of him, looking ready to axe murder someone, well – he supposed he would deal with it. He wasn’t about to start to care at that moment!

People who weren’t in the business, people whose lives weren’t lived in public could perhaps think it was not a big deal – that there would be other scandals, there would be more pressing news; and they were right, in a sense, because in the great scheme of things what happened shouldn’t even figure.

 The thing was, however, that some rumours stuck; they would be footnotes in gossip rags forever, they would be whispers at parties, behind the scenes, among casting directors – there would always be some asshole director, or some producer who would think that Sansa was willing to exchange sex for a part  and some young actress who would throw herself at him thinking that she would get somewhere with it – because they had read it on the internet, on papers, so it _must_ be true.  

Christ, Joffrey Baratheon was a dead man walking!

But he was mostly furious at himself because it was his fault! He was the director of the movie, he should have protected Sansa! He was supposed to – it was his bloody job!

He should have been more careful because he had good eyes for details and he had seen the selfie: he had smiled like a loon, he had _liked_ being so close to Sansa, he had _liked_ how she felt in his arms.

Just like he had loved how she had smiled and genuinely laughed at the pub at the stories he had told about his first movie, how she had tasted his beer and coughed because it was too strong and bitter and how they had chatted of nothing and everything and all he could see was her eyes and how expressive they were – and yes, he liked the way her hair smelled and when, exactly had he turned into a bloody teenager anyway?

There would be meetings, the following day - they would need a fucking strategy because Joffrey Baratheon was, basically, a mean girl with a penis. He didn’t want a _strategy_ because Sansa and he had done nothing wrong!

His phone vibrated again and, out of frustration, he pulled it from his pocket and groaned when he saw the caller id.

Tormund.

They were friends. They had been friends _before_ either of them had got famous. He liked that Tormund didn’t take any shit; he was honest to a fault, and not answering his call would not help both Sansa and him.  

Tormund knew him – they had known each other for far too long for him to believe that he would _ever_ do anything like that. He had also been there when the whole fiasco with Ygritte had gone down.

“What!” He growled as a way of greeting.

“Fuck you too!” Tormund replied, but he could hear the grin in his voice.

He sighed, and Tormund said, “So, I guess you learned how to use the internet, didn’t you?”

Despite himself, he smiled, just a little. He knew perfectly well how to use the internet, he only hated social media – and with good reason.

“No fucking comment!” He said, instead.

“I’m not calling as a journalist, you moron!” Tormund said – and he believed him, implicitly.

“I know – sorry, mate –“

“Saw you on the internet, the Daily Mail has just found its g spot!” Tormund said and he sounded genuinely disgusted, “I half expected you to deck one of the paps; for what is worth, I’d have lent a hand.” He continued.

Jon sighed, again, “why are you calling me? You didn’t check on me on nomination morning, why now?”

“Because you care, now. I have seen the picture Jon, everyone has!” Tormund replied and his voice took a gentler tone.

“Sansa and I aren’t sleeping together!” Jon said.

“Oh, I know that – you’re too honourable and she’s too raw after Baratheon –“ Tormund said but John interrupted him, refusing to dwell on what he had said about him because he was frankly too tired to, and asked, “What do you mean too _raw_?”

He wasn’t a fan of tabloids, but even he had seen pics of Sansa and Joffrey together at events, for a while they had been everywhere, he knew that they had been engaged because there was no escaping the Lannisters PR machine even if he had been on the other side of the globe shooting his third movie, when the news had broken.

Of course, when he had cast Sansa he had known nothing – just the bare minimum facts. If, by any chance, he had spent time googling her, since they had started the table reading, well, he was only human, wasn’t he?

 _Raw,_ however, implied something more serious than a bad break up between two kids, and he wasn’t even aware, at first, that he had clenched his hand into a tight fist and he was gripping his mobile until his friend spoke.  

“You’re making the noise –” Tormund said.

“Which noise?”

“The one you – never mind, look, have you got any beer? I mean the good stuff!” Tormund said.

He frowned in confusion, “I heard there’s good beer in London.” He said.

“I took the first plane to Belfast as soon as Melisandre picked up the story – this is going to get ugly! “

“Tormund –” Jon trailed, “I don’t think –“

“You know diddlyshit about this, Snow – just answer this: how did Ms Stark react to Joffrey’s allegations?”

Shocked, and then silent, composed – resigned. Pale, outraged, beautiful, full of dignity even while paparazzi shouted vile things at her to get a reaction.

_His._

That surge of protectiveness, of possessiveness, wasn’t truly a surprise, he wasn’t that out of touch with his feelings, it was nonetheless powerful enough to make his breath catch in his throat, for a moment.

Her reaction, the way she had behaved after Martell had shown them the tweets and had updated them, as things escalated – had sat heavy on his gut for hours, it was one of the reasons why he wanted to smash things in the first place.

“She was a professional, didn’t miss a beat.” He replied, eventually.

Tormund made a grunt, “I’ll be right there; there are things that can’t be said over the phone – tell the reception you’re waiting for me, and for fuck’s sake, you guys need to move out of the hotel tomorrow, it’s not safe!”

He didn’t like the tone of Tormund’s voice. He didn’t like that he had taken a plane to Belfast just because of some gossip, he didn’t like that there were things about _Sansa_ that couldn’t be discussed over the phone.  

But Tormund had been there for him, once before, when things with Ygritte ended, he was a good friend. And he needed one.

 

* * *

 

**Sansa – now - I**

The water was getting too cold, yet she couldn’t move a single muscle to get out of the shower. When she had finally been able to get into her hotel room, she had gone directly to the bathroom.

The old routine: puke her guts out, rip her clothes off and then straight under the shower.

Maergery Tyrell often talked about her relationship with Joffrey as “The Year From Hell”

It had been two years, actually. Only the last year of their “whirlwind romance” had been under the magnifying glass of paparazzi, tabloids and the media circus Cersei had created for her precious, psychopath son.

She closed her eyes, swallowing past the bile she felt rising in her throat.

She had thought things were better. She had thought that starting to act could be her way to reclaim herself, even if, at first, she had used a stage name.

She had thought that she had got out of that freak show – that Joffrey couldn’t harm her any more.

And yes, sure, he couldn’t lay a finger on her any longer; but she hadn’t got out because Joffrey Baratheon _was_ a psychopath. His golden boy image was just an act; he was instructed to always be pleasant to his fans, even if he despised them. He was instructed to be charming, funny during interviews and in public.

Behind closed doors, he was a monster. He was also an utter asshole to fellow actors and crew members, but his family was too powerful, therefore he kept working.   

And no one, not even her parents knew the true extent of what he did to her while they were together. Theon and Robb were the only ones who came close to guess, but she had been good – she had given the best performance of her life with them when she had dissuaded them from tearing Joffrey from limb to limb.

She had lied, she had covered her bruises and concealed her scars, she had smiled and smiled and smiled.

And she had started to feel safe, again. She had started to feel like she was _before_ Joffrey. It was her fault!

She shouldn’t have taken that selfie, she should have swapped places with Davos or Brienne because Tyrion had meant to show the world, they were having fun, but she had looked at the picture, after – and it was so _clear_ : the way she had hold Jon, how she had smiled, how she had _forgotten_ that the picture would become public and anyone could see it. She had forgotten Joffrey, how well he knew her, how good he was at reading her and her weaknesses.

Paps calling her a whore, a slut, didn’t faze her. After her break up with Joffrey (after she finally, finally got free) she was called every name in the book to get a reaction. She had seen her parents go through it countless times, she knew what to do. Not to say that it had been pleasant, but she knew how to get in the zone where she didn’t even really hear what they said and flashes were just bright lights.

Jon, however – was _innocent._

He was a good, honourable man. He was kind and funny in his own gruff way; she felt safe with him. 

Jon couldn’t know that she had had her first taste of alcohol in a very long time at the pub, because he was there with her and she had known, felt that she would be safe with him.

 She had laughed watching Tyrion drink Jon under the table, she had felt young and sexy while singing on stage with Dany, and walls hadn’t started to close down on her, she hadn’t felt the urge to bury herself in millions of layers of clothes.  

She could taste the bile on her lips, now.

Jon didn’t deserve _that_. He didn’t deserve to be attacked because of her. He didn’t deserve to have his work ethic questioned because of her. Her father, who thought that most of their business was hopeless, had told her: “Snow is one of the good guys, Sansa.”

Oh, God! She hadn’t even checked her phone! Her parents were probably furious! And her siblings – if she knew them, they were probably already planning how to kill Joffrey and where to ditch the body!

She realised that her teeth were chattering, just – how long had she been under the shower?

No.

No, damn it!

She wouldn’t, couldn’t let Joffrey hurt her again! It wasn’t fair! And she owed it to Jon to be stronger than that. She would bear it, bear everything as long as Joffrey didn’t stain Jon’s name to have fun.

She stopped, her hand on the towel when she realised the _ferocity_ of her instinct to protect Jon Snow.

He was a stranger –

No.

He was her director.

No, it wasn’t just that!

Jon Snow had fought for her, to have her in the movie, even if casting someone more known and, as it turned out, with less baggage, would have been less problematic.

He gave her confidence, and she trusted him and she had thought she would never trust another man in her life. And she was terrified at the idea of losing him because of Joffrey Baratheon.

She breathed, trying to find that balance that had allowed her to go out and smile for the cameras even if a couple of minutes earlier Joffrey, in the car, had punched her in the gut because it was his way to blow off some steam before facing the press and the fans.  

She wrapped the towel around her body and slowly made her way to the bedroom.

Her mobile phone was still in her purse and when she looked at it, she saw that it was bursting with messages, alerts and missed calls.  

She listened to her friends’ messages: Maergery, for example, was livid with fury and said she had a plan; Arya told her not to freak out, and to stay calm, she also told her that her family would not comment publicly on Joffrey’s actions.

“So, don’t get paranoid if I don’t kick asses on social media. You’re not alone, big sis.”

Robb told her more or less the same things, adding that he was immensely proud of her and that Joffrey Baratheon had definitely chewed more than he could eat that time.

Theon had invited himself to Belfast, told her that he would rent a flat near the studios and anyone who got near her would have to get through him, first.

“I can edit the shit I’m editing anywhere! Also, since I’m technically not a Stark, I told dad to stuff it. I’ve just got a call from Maergery – he’s going down. That’s a promise, Sansa!”

Her mother told her that she was proud of her and that no one truly believed the rumour. Her father, who was in New Zealand shooting a movie told her something that surprised her.

“I saw the picture, and I saw two good kids who look like they genuinely like each other.”, he told her that she had the whole family behind her and that she wouldn’t have to face it alone.

“Not this time, Sansa. This is the last time that parasite touches you. I swear!”

Her dad knew.

Of course, he did.

She burst, finally, into tears. She didn’t understand whether it was stress, relief, anger or gratitude; shame or the fact that the most tangible victory Joffrey had got with his slandering tweets was that she would never touch Jon again.

 

* * *

 

 

**Dany – Now - I**

 

Jorah’s hotel room was – not much different than the one he had had in New York; he was not the type of actor who made impossible demands to the studios and the producers.  It was a large room, yes, but so was hers. It was elegant, comfortable and after only a few days, it had already a homey feeling to it. Perhaps, it was the dimmed lights, the guitar in a corner of the room, the pile of books on the desk, Jorah’s coat and scarf on one armchair and the lingering smell of the bergamot tea Jorah loved to drink.

Back when they worked together the first time, when they were both married, in love with other people, and unaware that their lives would collapse pretty much simultaneously, Jorah’s hotel room had been their base: they had rehearsed, run lines together, had late dinners while waiting for the rush of adrenaline to wear off or had spent time just watching movies together or listening to music.  

The hotel staff got used to seeing them together at weird hours, and had never said a word about it. Until that day, she had thought they had been lucky – or that they hadn’t met arseholes. She was starting to think that Jorah had protected her, then – just like he had that day, and before, when Drogo died.

They had had a long day: rehearsals in themselves were kind of brutal: Anne might not be the protagonist – or how the internet was fond of calling her: the mvp of the movie, but she was hardly a supporting character. She had almost as much screen time as Sansa, almost as many lines, not that she gave a toss about such a thing, but still – she had worked all day and the shooting schedule she had taken a brief look at was _crazy_!

She was exhausted, she missed her son, even though she was glad, after days of feeling guilty about it, to have left him with his nanny in London. Her son would never, _ever_ , be used to get some clicks by some trashy online tabloid. Not as long as she breathed!

 She was furious about what happened because of Joffrey Baratheon!

She was angry that they had all to leave work separately as if they were having orgies and not bursting their assess off because their director had a precise vision for that movie and it looked like he knew how to achieve that and kept pushing them to give their best.  

She was angry that Jorah had to face paparazzi again, not the kind, even funny ones they had encountered for the past few days, but the ones that screamed filthy things to have a scoop. She was angry that Sansa had looked so bloody pale all afternoon and she had minutely flinched whenever Daario touched her.

And poor Daario! He was lucky that her presence in the scene had blocked Jon’s vision when Sansa had flinched or their director would have chewed his head off that day.

When she got in the lift, in the hotel, she had pressed the button to Jorah’s floor without even thinking, she had walked down the hall and knocked on his door and she had been floored with relief when he hadn’t looked surprised at seeing her.

And she had smiled when, he too, had looked – relieved upon seeing her.

He had told her to make herself at home, and she had – like she used to do: she had taken off her shoes, pulled up her hair in a bun, stolen one of Jorah’s scarves and used it as a shawl, and had sat on the sofa.

She accepted the glass of wine he handed her and made room for him on the sofa as he sat down. Sofa, was, actually, too much a generous word, but she liked the closeness between them. She needed it.

“Ned went crazy with happiness when Sansa was born – “Jorah said, breaking the silence in the room. It hadn’t been awkward, to the contrary it had been warm, comfortable – the sort of silence she had missed and craved.

She smiled, but she thought about how Ned and Catherine must be feeling – she would be going crazy with anger in their place. She knew them, she had worked with both of them on separate occasions and they had always been very reserved about their private lives. They were two stars who had managed to have a happy marriage, balanced and decent children and a private life. She admired them – even if she could not see a world where Jorah did something so awful that Ned Stark would forsake him and their friendship.

Then again, she was biased, she supposed.

“She doesn’t deserve this,” She said, meaning every syllable. Even if she had slept with Jon – and it was very clear, since they were spending so much time together that they definitely hadn’t - there would be nothing wrong with it: she was the right choice to play Queen Alysanne and they were disgustingly cute together.

“Deserving has little to do with things like this,” Jorah replied.

Right. He should know. Did he deserve to get dragged through the mud because his wife had cheated on him and almost got him bankrupt?

Did she deserve to have pictures of her taken on the day of Drogo’s funeral, commenting on what she was wearing, whether she was grieving too much or not enough?

Did Jorah and she deserve the rumours and what the picture taken at Drogo’s funeral of them inferred, right after she had been forced to announce her pregnancy?

He was right: it was not a matter of deserving.

She sipped her wine and sighed.

“We have to do something,” She said, after a moment. Oberyn Martell had succinctly told them to stay the hell away from social media until after the meeting they were having in the morning. All of them, with no exceptions, had been told to keep silent. Tyrion had told them the same and had apologised to Sansa and Jon for the selfie. He had looked genuinely horrified at the reaction his nephew’s tweets had caused.

Except for Jon, however, none of them was new at the game – and their director would have to need to learn how to play it, whether he liked it or not.

Jorah nodded, and she _hated_ how haunted he looked, now.

“Listen to me –“ She said, “we cannot afford this movie to flop, we need it!”

Jorah looked at her, surprised and she placed the glass on the coffee table, she was slow and deliberate in her movements because there was no way in hell that she was letting that little creep ruin her life!

Joffrey Baratheon and the paparazzi and the studios' executives and Drogo’s fans would not decide for her. Not any more!

Yes, she was sorry for Sansa – she truly was. She didn’t deserve to be publicity slandered by that brat, but there was more at stake, and someone had to say it.

Jorah seemed to sense her determination because he placed his glass on the floor, almost sensing what would come after. He possibly did. She wouldn’t be surprised in the least. They met halfway, as always and she liked how warm his hands felt when she took them in hers.

“I hate to be _that_ person, but Jorah – we need this movie not to be remembered as –“

“The movie where Sansa Stark fucked the director to get the part –“ Jorah finished for her.

Crude, but true. Just like “The Barbarian” was remembered only because it was the movie where Drogo died. Or her first movie was remembered as the one where she had her boobs out.

Sansa’s career could be destroyed because it wasn’t strong enough to face the slander, she didn’t have any clout – despite her lineage. And if she went down, the whole movie would follow.

“And yes, I like Sansa – I do.” She added, even if she knew that she didn’t really need to with Jorah.

“I never doubted it.” Jorah said, “she was – she _is_ a nice kid. And what the paps screamed at her today was sick.”

 It was, and she hated how much that day’s events were reopening old wounds for Jorah. She hated that she had been so selfish at the time and had allowed Jorah to get more wounds to protect her.  

“We know it’s going to get bad –“ Jorah said after a moment and she realised that somewhere while talking they had interlaced fingers and neither of them had made an attempt to break the contact, “but you are absolutely right, we cannot afford this movie to crash and burn before we even shoot it!”

It was the truth: as much as they both liked Sansa and Jon, and they did – they needed that movie. Neither of them was in the position where they could afford a flop.

They swapped ideas – and it felt familiar because they had always complemented each other in ways that had surprised her, at first and missed, when they had been apart.

They had a tentative strategy, a plan, one that wasn’t PR or studios approved, and she was afraid – because it was not just three tweets and some tabloids badmouthing a young actress: it was one of the most powerful families in the world against them. Jorah was right: it was going to get bad, it was inevitable.

He brushed his thumb over the back of her hand, almost sensing her fear, and said, “It will work, it has to.”

She nodded, and Jorah scooted closer to her, and there was nothing remotely sensual in that move, he wanted to look at her because he had always looked at her in the eyes, and she had done the same with him since the day they had first read together for The Ghost and Mrs Muir.

“Dany, you are the strongest person I know.” He said

 _No, I’m not –_ she thought, or she wouldn’t have run from him for years, avoiding him because she feared what it might have been between them.

“There are times when I look at you, and I still can’t believe you’re real –“ He said, his eyes never leaving hers, their fingers still laced and she was floored because the sentiment was entirely mutual.

“You lost the man you loved, you are raising a son on your own, you are a good, compassionate woman and…”

And she wanted to kiss him. She had wanted to for years, even when she wasn’t supposed to, and they had done the right thing once, they had been decent and jaded enough not to screw their lives up for what it could be a fling.

 Except their lives had gone to hell anyway and here they were, years later, in another hotel room, too close to even pretend they were co-stars who got along or friends. And it wasn’t, couldn’t be a fling. That ship had long sailed.  

The last time they had been that close, a breath away from kissing, the only time they had not ignored the elephant in the room, they had been interrupted.

Jorah was looking at her lips, now, and she was doing the same; he had bared his heart to her, and she didn’t deserve the words he had said, and she wished she was half as strong and tell him how much she had missed him, and loved him.

A beat – because if the universe didn’t want them together, it had better make its move right at that moment!

Nothing happened.

 _Everything_ happened.

They moved, together, and it came naturally, even if her heart was drumming in her chest.

He tasted like the wine they had both drunk, and his hands were warm when he cupped her face and she sighed, melting into his arms because it felt right; he was warm, and he knew his smell: it was familiar, it was something she didn’t even know she had missed until he had hugged her when they had their first coffee together before the table reading began.

Again, they moved together, without even breaking the kiss, and how could it be that she had felt Jorah’s hands on the small of her back, her nape, her shoulders countless times and yet his touch was setting her on fire?

How could it be that – it wasn’t the reason why she had come to his room, but it felt like it was a moment that had been years in the making?

His beard was scratchy, but she didn’t mind, on the contrary, it was sending delicious shivers of pleasure down her spine and she found out that if she kissed the side of his neck he was ticklish but couldn’t hide a moan.

And she was straddling him, they were both wearing jeans and jumpers because that wasn’t supposed to be a date and she didn’t remember ever being that turned on from a kiss.

“Wait.” He whispered before she could steal another kiss.

His hands were on her hips and he had somehow untangled her bun and wouldn’t that be a _great_ scene in a movie? Except that it wasn’t a movie, it was real life and they were making out on his sofa and he had asked her to stop.

She nodded, unable to trust her voice.

“We can’t!” He said.

The look on her face must have spoken volumes because he said, “It’s not that I don’t want you.”

“Believe me, I’m aware.” She said. She smiled, because he looked flustered and sounded hoarse and it was a look, she decided right away, that she liked on him. She smiled because he was Jorah and he had never and would never intentionally hurt her.

“We both are, love,” He said, he was smiling too, but she recognised the look on his face, the one he had when he thought that he had wronged her somehow.

Neither of them had moved, and despite his words, Jorah’s hands were still firmly holding her hips.

“Why?” She said. It was not a question, however.

“Because it’s us – and I _can_ go out of this room tomorrow and be your co-star, I _can_ face the shitstorm outside with the paparazzi and the press, but I _can’t_ pretend it’s just an itch waiting to be scratched, Dany, not if we’re not -” He trailed.

_Oh._

 

He didn’t know. He couldn’t know because she was a good actress – because as Shakespeare said all the world’s a stage and she hadn’t stopped playing a part for years: the young bride, the faithful wife, the grieving widow, the mother.

And it had been true: she had been a young bride, she had been a faithful wife because the vows she took had mattered to her, she had grieved Drogo, and she lived for her son.

Jorah, however, had made his way into her heart and pretending he wasn’t there, not dwelling on her feelings hadn’t helped matters.

He was there, and she couldn’t and didn’t want to imagine her life without him.

“Not if we are not –?” She prompted him to finish his sentence.

Did Jorah truly think that it had been an itch to scratch for her?

“We need time to understand what we want, Dany.” He said, “Because if either of us is not sure – I’m not _that_ good of an actor.”

“By we, you mean me, don’t you?” She asked.

He shook his head, “No, I mean we as in you and I. We have to be sure, love. Because I can’t do that if –“

“Neither can I –“ She said.

And in a perfect world, one where it wasn’t raining and paparazzi weren’t swarming outside the hotel (hence the curtains drawn and the lights dimmed in that room), they would be kissing again, she would start undulating her hips and keep making out with the man she was still straddling.

The world, however, was _not_ perfect. And their lives were messy on good days. Therefore, she kissed him again, because she could and she had wanted to for years and he indulged in the kiss for a moment, before helping her up. He was the one who took her hand, that time, and they sat again on the sofa.

“I need time,” He said.

And he wouldn’t be Jorah if he didn’t try to protect her, even now. She had read between the lines: he wanted her to be sure that it was what she wanted.  

“I come with baggage,” she said.

“So do I, love – “ He smiled, squeezing her hand.

“I came here tonight because – when I think of home, I can only picture us together.” She said.

It was the truth, and it was high time that she stopped ignoring it. She had felt home with him in that hotel room in New York while eating sushi in the middle of the night or drinking wine. She had smiled when he insisted on escorting her to her room, even if she was just one floor down, only to be met with a sense of emptiness when she was in her own room.

 Jorah deserved more. She deserved more.

They deserved a chance. And yes, they could make love that night – but he would have lingering doubts and they had danced around what they were for too long.

Part of her, however, was scared – because she knew that life was too short, that things could change in a heartbeat and she had already lost too much time.  

“Ok.” She said, because Jorah was right – and they did need time – because what had bloomed between them the first time they had worked together, as beautiful as it had been couldn’t be enough – and their lives were different, now.

And if it had been an itch to scratch they wouldn’t be having that conversation to begin with.

“End of the first week of shooting,” Jorah said.

“Two weeks?” She asked. Fourteen days.

“We didn’t even have a proper date!” Jorah said.

He let go of her hand, only to droop an arm around her shoulders.

Well, that was true. Sort of.

“You don’t need to – I mean, the wooing thing –“ She said.

He grinned at her and said, “Daenerys Stormborn, indulge me, for once.”

She sighed and rested her head against his shoulders and closed her eyes when he felt him drop a kiss on the crown of her head.

That, right there, was exactly what she wanted. But it would be interesting to be romanced by the man she had been half in love with for the past three years.

 

* * *

 

**Tyrion – Now – I**

Cersei took her sweet time to join the conference call. While the actors and Jon had all gone to their hotel – and it went without saying that they would have to find newer, better accommodation for them – Oberyn, Baelish and him had been busy with conference calls and were defining a strategy.

His sister, the thorn in his side, was the last one to join the party. She was still wearing her work suit, and her make up and hair was impeccable, but she was in her study, at home.

Cersei was many things: a liar, manipulative, cruel person. She was a bitch, but she doted on her children. Luckily only Joffrey had grown up to be a psychopath bastard, Tommen and Myrcella were good kids, who led a somewhat normal life and she did everything in her power to ensure that nothing could touch them.

Joffrey was her beloved firstborn. And yes, he was aware of the fact that there was nothing of Rob Baratheon in him, he was a Lannister. Perhaps, too much of one.

He had chosen not to dwell on those gossips. He had had to. For Jaime, mostly.

Cersei was also, however, a savvy business woman. She was excellent at what she did. She had succeeded in a male-dominated field, and she was one of the most accomplished studio executives in the world.

He hoped she would see reason. He would need to appeal to the businesswoman, hoping she realised that Joffrey had fucked up, big time.

“Thank you for joining us.” He said.

Cersei shrugged. Great, she was drunk! The headache he had felt throbbing behind his eyes was getting worse.

Oberyn spoke. They had agreed that it would be better if he was the one who did at first. PR was what he was paid for and they were facing a crisis because somehow those tweets not only had become viral, but they had been picked up by each and every media outlet.

He would gamble his Oscar that Cersei had lent a hand.

“Gentlemen,” Cersei said, “I think you are overreacting. It’s bad press, I agree, but it’s press, nonetheless. Everyone is talking about the movie, it’s the most hyped movie of the year, I truly don’t see any problem here.”

Fucking liar.

“You know what the problem is, Cersei.” He said. He tried to keep his voice low, not to show how furious he was. Cersei’s world was an oyster: yes, she had put money into the movie, but if it crashed and burned it would do her a world of good for taxes.

The studio executive on the other side of the conference call, let out a curse and said that he would talk to Cersei in the morning, face to face, and interrupted the call. A moment later, Baelish’s mobile phone rang and he excused himself and left the room.

That couldn’t be good.

“Tyrion, it’s not Joffrey’s fault if his tweets have been picked up, it’s not his responsibility. And as I said, I truly don’t see where the problem is. Bad press is still press, you know that. Sansa will have to deal with it, I suppose.”

So, she was playing being obtuse, then. How – _unlike_ her!

“I see.” He said, “How did his screen test for Chazelle’s movie go, by the way? Any news? I guess Joffrey wouldn’t mind if Bronn, Sansa and I started to share what we know about him and his proclivities. I bet your spin doctors would _love_ to deal with it!”

 _Procilivities,_ like what he did to hookers, like the drugs he did or how he had constantly abused Sansa Stark while they had been together.

Cersei smirked. The thing was that he was talking neither to the businesswoman or the mother. He was talking to the sister who despised his very existence to the point that she would ruin a good movie, a girl’s reputation and future, a young director’s promising career just to hurt _him._

She wasn’t playing being obtuse – she was blinded by her hatred and in his experience, it never ended well.

“I would like to see you try!” Cersei said. She thought he was bluffing. He knew her too well. As much as they hated each other, he could always got her motives, the way she thought because they were similar, in a way: their father hadn’t raised morons.

However, she didn’t know about how much he had worked on that script; she didn’t know that it was the story he had wanted to tell ever since he could remember.

She didn’t care.

“You really wouldn’t, sister.” He replied.

He saw Oberyn tense at his words. The man knew him, they regularly played poker together, and he knew he wasn’t bluffing. Not that time, not about that.  

Whether Cersei saw it or not, she dismissed him with a curt, “I’ll talk to Joffrey.”

The screen went black and Oberyn got up, “I’ll run the draft of the statement with the others,” He said, “but Tyrion, I’m not going to lie – it’s not too late to recast Sansa. Costume fittings haven’t even started, yet. We can come up with something good, spin this in our favour!”

“No fucking way!” He roared. It would kill Sansa’s career, it would ruin the movie, and Jon Snow would probably have his balls for that. And he would burn in hell before letting his nephew fuck up his movie because his career was on life support!

Martell nodded, unconvinced. “Fine. I’ll fix this!”

He would, and he would pull off a goddamned miracle; he had chosen him because he was extremely good at what he did, “Do that. I don’t care how!”

Bronn was there. He hadn’t said a word, during the conference call: he had been too busy with his mobile phone, whether to play Candy Crush or actually doing his job (he was very good at it, when he wanted to) he had no clue.

“Call him!” Bronn said. He turned, and the man wasn’t even looking at him – and no, he wasn’t playing Candy Crush – he was reading the news and replying to some texts.  

Cersei would _hate_ that.  So, of course he would make that call.

“Yes, I have another call to make, first.” He replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title of this chapter taken from “Litany in Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out” by Richard Siken because when I grow up I want to be that good at writing and because ….of reasons!


	5. You see, I take the parts that I remember and stitch them back together (part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we delve a bit in our heroes' past and alliances are formed.

**Jon – Then – II**

Ygritte was amazing. She had been the first person who had believed in him and pushed him to follow his dreams, rather than settle for something else, something secure.

He had wanted to be a director ever since he could remember. Ygritte wanted to be a director and, unlike him, she had never settled.

She had leant him money, she had convinced him to just stop brooding and do the bloody movie! And it had worked.

It happened in New York, and somehow, it didn’t surprise Jon. The last time they had been there, it had been nice: they had felt invincible, as if nothing and no one could part them.

Nothing, no one except the work.

It happened in New York, but it might have happened in their flat in London, or in Los Angeles or anywhere in the world.

It was just – that the last time they had been in that city, he had been sure they would be together forever.

Even if she would have decked him if he proposed, even if she’d rather have new camera lenses for her camera than an engagement ring.

How was it – even possible that they were shouting at each other and had been doing so for hours?

Why did he not know how much she had been resenting him?

She wasn’t resentful of his success – she resented the fuck out of him, personally, for not seeing.

Seeing what? He kept asking, and then shouting.

Ygritte was a passionate woman, it was the first thing he had loved about her. She was his opposite, in many ways: she wasn’t afraid of anything – she was fire and he was a repressed arsehole with an attitude.

He knew that – but he did love her.

He told her.

For the first time since that shouting match started, and he didn’t even remember what had caused it in the first place, her shoulders slumped. Her auburn air fell to her face and he saw tears in her eyes.

“I know – but you still don’t see!” She said, and she wasn’t getting philosophical on him. Ygritte was far too practical to do that.

“Help me –“ He said. He pleaded because Ygritte had been there, with him, since the beginning, since the first day at Uni.

“I’m done hand holding you, Jon.” She said. And the thing that brought tears to his eyes was that there wasn’t anger in her voice, or disappointment, or even weariness; her voice cracked as she said those words. As if it pained her to do so.

Then why was she – breaking up with him?

“Job has been crazy, I know, but – it will get better, we’ll get some time off –“ Jon trailed.  

“And then what? I will tag along on yet another set, where I will be your girlfriend? Jon, I love you. I do – but I need _more.”_

More.

And there he was, thinking they had it all: they were young, healthy, in love, for the first time since college debt free, and relatively successful in their jobs.

“Is that because of the project in Patagonia?” He asked.

And yes, he could see now where she would resent him – because it was her chance and he had forgotten all about it, how could he?

“Oh, God –“ He said, because he could be somewhat out of touch with his feelings, but he would have never intentionally hurt Ygritte.

“I won’t play in your pity party game, Snow!” She said. Her voice was hard, now – she was angry because he had been a terrible boyfriend, and a selfish git, and she would not allow him to forget it.

He sat heavily on the bed, looking around he saw the aftermath of hours of shouting, of words he didn’t even remember screaming, but they had broken things, and his throat was sore.

“Listen –“ She walked toward him, and she knelt in front of him, taking his hands in hers, “I’m angry – at you, at myself because we should have had this six months ago, not now. But don’t ever think, not even for a second, that I’m not proud of you and that I’m whining because I don’t feel appreciated enough! I need that project and the one after that. And we cannot do this together, Snow. We can’t! Not now, and I don’t believe in fucking fairy tales!”

“So you pick your career over me.” He said, and incredibly enough she smiled, she even brushed some locks away from his face and said, “You did it six months ago,”

 _But I didn’t know that it was like that!_ He wanted to tell her, scream again, maybe.

“Do me a favour, Jon, don’t play the martyr, not with me!” She could be hard, at times, but she was honest and he had loved her for it – he still did, he always would.

“And hey, when you win your first Oscar I will resent the fuck out of you if you don’t thank me!” She was smiling, tilting her head on a side, and how was she breaking up with him and flirting with him at the same time?

“Aye, ma’am,” He said, he wanted to smile, but he was afraid he would start crying if he tried.

She had been his first real girlfriend, the first woman he had made love to, the first who had listened to his dreams and told him that they could come true. She was beautiful, amazing, strong and he was losing her.

He felt heartbroken and free at the same time, why? Was that why she was smiling and leaning in to kiss him?

Did he chain her down so much that she was happy to leave?

He didn’t understand, he didn’t even want to.

 

* * *

 

**Sansa – then – II**

She would kill Theon. Slowly. With pain, a lot of pain.

It had been his idea: having his little sister being his plus one at the BAFTAs; it was his first nomination, he was sure he wouldn’t win, and going there alone would make it look even more of a loser.

Those had been his words, and his predictions.

He had won, which had surprised no one but him, because he was an idiot, so here they were, at an afterparty, her high heels were killing her, and since he had won his first important award he was leaving her alone and there was no one she knew there. Well, many people knew her parents, but those sorts of parties were not exactly something she was used to.

But that, right there? It was a dream come true at the same time because she had always wanted to go to a party among famous people, even if her parents had told her how boring they truly were: it was mostly people patting themselves on the back, and making connections for future jobs.

She was careful not to drink too much because there would be pictures and the last thing she wanted was to look like her aunt after one of her binges.

Yes, she would kill Theon – with his own Bafta.

“Congratulations on your brother’s victory!” A female voice said behind her.

She turned, and bloody hell! That was Cersei Lannister! She was perfect: the hair, artfully done, the makeup that highlighted her eyes and cheekbones; she was dressed in pale green and gold, wearing jewels that couldn’t possibly be authentic.

She was staring and when she realised it, she wanted to kick herself, “Thank you,” she said.

“Moving speech, I am sure your father will be immensely proud of him!” She continued.

Oh, she was pretty sure his father was quietly bursting with pride, while her mother and Sansa were still celebrating.

They had heard just from Robb, after he won and he had teased Theon mercilessly about his speech.

“He is – we all are.” She said.

Cersei smiled and then, touched her forehead and said, “Oh, where are my manners?”

It was then, Sansa noticed the young, blonde man next to her.

Joffrey Baratheon.

She was in the same room with Joffrey Baratheon and she had been so starstruck with his mother that she hadn’t seen him!

Joffrey seemed to notice her embarrassment, he smiled and – holy damn, it was like staring into the sun! –  said, “Don’t worry, my mum has this effect on everyone! Hi, I’m Joffrey!”

She extended her hand and he gently took it in his and kissed it.

Fuck.

“I’m Sansa Stark.” She said.

“Nice to meet you, Sansa Stark.” He said, his smile never leaving his face.

She couldn’t, for the life of her, tear her eyes off of his. He had the most amazing blue eyes she had ever seen. And they were even better in person.

God – she had cried her eyes out watching his last movie – he had been phenomenal, and she had grown up watching screenings during award season, therefore she was used to top-notch acting.

“Sunshine through the leaves was amazing, you should have won tonight.” She said.

He shrugged, “Didn’t really expect to, but you are very kind.”

“Oh, Joffrey, sweetheart,” Cersei said, and Sansa blinked because for a moment everything had faded, there had just been Joffrey’s eyes and his smile.

“I really must go and talk to your uncle, I didn’t congratulate him, can you believe it?” She smiled and she ignored the way her words had rubbed her the wrong way.

She had grown up with actors. She had seen her parents rehearsing lines until they felt natural, it didn’t matter how ridiculous they sounded sometimes, and what Cersei had just said, felt like a lie.

_Oh._

_Oh!_

She wanted to leave them alone!

“Right,” Joffrey said, “I will be with you shortly, I told him he would win tonight!”

Joffrey sounded genuinely proud of his uncle, but still – it was clear he wasn’t joining his mother.

Cersei kissed her cheeks and she sort of fell in love with her perfume and waved her son goodbye.

“Can I tell you a secret?” He said, after a moment.

“Sure –  go ahead!” She said.

He inched closer, “I reached my quota of sucking up for tonight, would you like to go outside and breathe like normal people?” He grinned. He was holding a glass, but it wasn’t champagne, it was a soda.

She couldn’t help grinning back at him, “Oh, God, yes –“

He offered her his arms, and they walked – and she didn’t know, couldn’t imagine how many eyes were staring at her, and among them, how many they were pitying her.

* * *

 

**Dany – Then – II**

That was the last time she would hear that music, that soft ballad that had been stuck in her head for months, the one that was the perfect choice for the last scene of the play.

She was changing behind the scenes in record time and Jorah was on the other side.

He smiled, and she did the same.

Five seconds and they would say their lines for the last time, they would hear people sniffling in the theatre, their combined fans wait until the very last second before erupting in cheers and it would be over.

Jorah nodded at her, and she did the same before they both got on stage.

It was easy, it had been far too easy – Tyrion’s work had reinvented that movie and made it new, unique, sexy, full of laughter and tears.

It wasn’t scripted, but she closed her eyes when she felt Jorah touching her shoulders.

Lucy was finally reunited with her captain.

She turned, and there he was: blue eyes fixed on hers, his blue coat (which she had bought for him as a wrapping gift because it was just perfect on him!)  making him look like the romantic hero he had played so effortlessly.

They didn’t have many lines. The stage directions, however, had ended up being pages long: touches, smiles, movements; it was almost like a dance.

“And now,” Jorah said, “You’ll never be tired again.”

It was all about finally being able to touch each other – it was about a woman who had lived her whole life yearning for someone she couldn’t have and finally getting what she truly wanted, even if in death.

He made her twirl on stage and they knew their marks so well that there wasn’t any danger of making mistakes; it was their last night and she just let go.

There could never be any kissing; Tyrion and the director had been adamant about that.

“Make them go out of the theatre satisfied without swapping saliva!” The director had said on their first day of rehearsal.

And they had succeeded: they had made a play which had been sexy without any nudity or sex scenes or kisses and it had been an unprecedented, record-breaking success.

There – it was the moment where they would almost brush their lips, they usually would just lace their fingers and walk toward that door, toward their happy ending.

A look at Jorah told her that he was feeling that too: it was the last time they would do that, it was their last moments as Captain Gregg and Lucy Muir.

They hadn’t decided it beforehand, but it came naturally to rest their foreheads together, while he was still holding her in his arms.

“Come, Lucy –“ He said, and she caught the itch in his voice.

She looked at him and he saw that his eyes were glimmering with unshed tears.

“Come, my dear –“ She said. Her voice quivered and she could feel tears as well in her eyes.

They walked toward the door and behind them, the crowd erupted in applause and cheers.

The following thirty minutes went by in a haze: people truly didn’t want them the play to end – she lost count of how many callbacks they had. She was dimly aware that she had been holding Jorah’s hand non stop since the last moments of the play and it looked like he didn’t seem to mind.

She hugged and kissed the other cast members, but they all knew – they had known since rehearsal and it had been confirmed during the run of the play that it was all about Jorah and her, therefore they allowed them to bask for the last time in the lights and the applause. 

She felt the loss of contact with Jorah when it was over and they made their ways to their respective dressing rooms.

 She told Missandei that unless it was her costar she didn’t want to see anyone until she was ready.

She wasn’t usually a diva, but she needed a moment alone. She had packed her things in the dressing room, they were in a box that she would bring home.

Home…

She hadn’t been home for six months, Drogo was still on set; they had tentative plans to finally spend some time together in two days. He was taking a break from filming and she was free.

They weren’t going home, however. He only had three days; they would meet somewhere in the middle.

Why was she feeling like she was _leaving_ home rather than going back to it? Why was her heart beating so fast in her chest?

She snorted and proceeded to remove her stage make up: gone was Lucy Muir, she was back being Daenerys Stormborn, and she shed the last of her character when she changed in her plain clothes: jeans, her favourite jumper, a scarf.

There: it was over. It was officially over.

There would be other gigs, there would be other characters she would love – but she would never forget Lucy, she would never forget that play and the friends she had made.

And why on Earth was she talking to herself as if she was giving an interview?

She looked at herself in the mirror.

 _Say it!_ Her reflected image challenged her.

She would miss Jorah. And she knew they would keep in touch, for a while at least, they would run into each other in London because it was bound to happen – but it wouldn’t be the same thing.

She swallowed and took her wedding and engagement rings from her purse and put them on, and she wasn’t surprised in the least when she heard knocking at the door. Jorah knew how long she took to get ready because they had worked together for almost a year and co-stars learned those things very early about each other; it was one of the things that made or destroyed a partnership on sets.

“May I come in?” He asked.

“Yep –“ She said, forcing a smile on her lips and her heartbeat to slow down, at least a little.

He was back in plain clothes too: jeans, a jumper, one of his trademark scarves (and did he know that she had kept one of his, after one of their late-night dinners in his hotel room?). He was wearing his own black coat, but was holding the blue one under his arm.

“Thank you,” He said when he got in, “you shouldn’t have!”

He looked genuinely moved – almost as if he didn’t expect her to give him something at the end of the most amazing working experience she had ever had.

“You’re welcome and don’t be an idiot!”

Jorah had closed the door behind him, he took a couple of steps toward her and said, “I got you something too!”

“You didn’t –“ She said

“Oh, ye of little faith!” He said, mock affronted.

And of course, he had: it was a copy of the necklace she had worn during the run of the play – she had one in a box that would go back to the wardrobe department right behind her, except that it wasn’t a copy!

The aquamarine was nestled in a complicated and yet delicate silver gossamer. Tyrion who was a freak control had supervised the costume and accessories fitting and had wanted that particular necklace for her.

But that – was _not_ a prop!

“Oh, my God!” She said. And truly, she could be articulate when she wanted to! She did!

She had meant to ask the wardrobe department to give her the prop as a memento, but Jorah had anticipated her.

“It’s – it’s beautiful, Jorah, thank you so much!” She said and, _sod it!_ she threw herself into his arms.

Lucy and the captain didn’t touch each other in the play, except that at the very end, and for some reason, Jorah and she had done the same. That night, so far, had been the exception to an unspoken rule that had been set firmly in place since – well, the first week of rehearsals.

She felt his surprise and closed her eyes when he hugged her back, letting the coat drop on the floor.

She had met good friends on the job; people she genuinely cared about, she had had last days on sets where she had teared up and there were pictures on her mobile phone on some of her last days on set where she looked like an absolute mess: puffy eyed and red nosed.

That, however, was a first. It was the first time she wanted to hold onto someone and say, “I don’t want to go. I don’t want you to go!”

And that had _never_ happened to her.

She willed herself not to cry because it would be foolish and because they had a wrap party to attend.

She didn’t move, however, and neither did Jorah. She listened to his heartbeat and when she finally broke their embrace she was smiling.

“It’s been an honour.” She said. And it was the truth – but the truth ran deeper than that, and she couldn’t dwell on it.

“Likewise, _Khaleesi._ ” He said.

And there, the tears came because they had teased each other for months, using names of characters they had played, texting each other as Mrs Muir and Captain Gregg, but that was the first time he mentioned her breakout role, the one that had made people realise that she wasn’t just a pretty face with nice boobs.

 _I can’t let you go…_ She thought. Jorah was still holding the pendant in one hand, he smiled his kindest smile and said, “May I?”

“Yes, yes of course!” She said.

Unlike on stage, she didn’t close her eyes, she saw their image on the mirror: they way he brushed her hair on a side, and gently clasped the chain behind her neck, she felt how his fingers lingered for just one moment on her nape and how he was decidedly not looking in the mirror.

_Oh, Jorah –_

Neither of them was blind. They were aware of their chemistry – and even if they hadn’t been, even if they had wanted to be oblivious, people had noticed – they had had six months run in Broadway and it had been sold out every single day.

Critics, journalists, fans talked about the “Stormborn+Mormont” effect. They had got covers of magazines that usually didn’t care about theatre.

They weren’t blind, but they weren’t green either – working that closely together, on sets, could lead to a skewed perception of things, hence why so many romances born on sets crashed and burned.

Besides, they were both married – and as she had found out pretty soon that they were both pretty old fashioned about wedding vows.

Six months – countless hours spent together so much that even Drogo had started to get annoyed about it, and they had never, _ever_ overstepped boundaries. Six months playing almost lovers who had far too much sexual tension and that night had been the first time they had held hands for more than the few minutes required by the script.

Eight months, in total – they had been alone all the time, and it wasn’t the first time she felt the air charged with electricity, but she didn’t know whether she was strong enough not to give in.

She turned, slowly, and didn’t even have the heart to make small talk or thank him again for the beautiful pendant.

They were too close and there wasn’t an audience watching with rapt attention, there weren’t fans who would tweet later that they had expected them to fuck each other on stage given how thick the sexual tension was between them (that was a comment she had never shown her costar). They were alone – and after the wrap party, they would possibly never see each other again.

“Daenerys…” He said.

It was a warning, it was a request, it was what they hadn’t said, what she had always refused to admit because ignorance was bliss.

They moved, just an inch, closing the distance between them.

They would pretend it didn’t happen, later – they would part as good friends and she would go to Drogo and try and decide whether they had just bought themselves another year of marriage by working on different sides of the globe for months or if there was still something worth saving.

He would go back to his wife, even if she had heard his side of the fights on the phone lately and they would patch things up because Jorah had already lost too much, he didn’t deserve to lose another wife.

They would meet at parties or at the Tonys if they got nominated, they would pose together for pictures and nothing would transpire of that little moment in her dressing room.

A beat – a breath, her heart hammering in her chest, Jorah inching closer, her hands trailing up his sides and his still on her nape.

 _Do it – because if I do I won’t let you go…_ she pleaded with her eyes.

Hesitancy, on both sides.

And the universe, apparently, decided to intervene because they heard the knock on the door just as Jorah’s lips brushed hers.

“Guys, it’s me!” It was Tyrion.

The moment had come and gone. They both stepped back as she invited Tyrion in.

 _I’m sorry._ His eyes told her.

 _It’s okay –_ _it’s better this way,_ she replied in kind. She squeezed his hand in hers for a moment as Tyrion came in.

Tyrion Lannister was an incredibly perspective man – she was lucky to consider him a friend, therefore she was glad, immensely glad when he pretended not to notice what had almost happened, even if the look in his eyes gave away that he had seen _everything._

“You’re not going to believe whom I’ve just talked to!” He said and he seemed overjoyed.

When neither of them spoke, Tyrion grinned and said, “Get ready to take Hollywood by the balls, my friends! They want to make a movie out of this!”

She exchanged a glance with Jorah and Tyrion, bless his heart, didn’t comment on how they both burst laughing at his words.

It wasn’t over.  

 

* * *

 

 

**Tyrion – Then – II**

He was drunk.

No big surprise there. He admitted he was cynical, had had never made a mystery of it – but he had reached a new low.

The moment he had thought: “Why did the moron have to die now? Why did the bitch have to cheat on him now? Why didn’t they wait for the contracts to be signed?” he had started drinking because – that was bad, even for him: he cared about Dany, he cared about Jorah, they were his friends – and yet, he was a Lannister, he was not in the business of fair and if they had been struck with personal tragedies and dramas after the contracts were signed the movie wouldn’t have gone up in flames before even truly going in pre-production.

Jaime took the bottle away from him; he had crashed at his place – after one of the hardest and longest days of his life and had – well, he had moped. He was a writer, he might as well use the right words.

“Give it back!” He whined.

Jaime shook his head, he disappeared in the kitchen and came back a moment later with a tall glass of water.

“Drink.” He said.

“Fucker!” He replied. It meant: thank you for being the only family member who doesn’t hate me for existing.

Jaime smirked and pushed the glass toward him. He accepted it, wondering not for the first time, a much more drunkenly than usual why Jaime, with his looks and natural charisma, had not got in the family business.

He had been a child actor, like Cersei, but he had given it all up – and going against their father’s wishes, he had become a lawyer.

No.

It was worse than that: he was a Crown Prosecutor, not some shark that made money and cutthroats. Well, he had done that too, at first, but in the end, he had chosen to do something his father had never understood.

“Perhaps it wasn’t meant to be.” He said.

“Don’t go zen on me, brother – it was rotten luck!” He said and then marvelled, “And yes, I’m a horrible human being, I’m aware.”

“Have you met our father?” Jaime asked, sitting next to him on the sofa.

“Sadly, yes.” He replied.

“You have been working on the Queen script forever, maybe that’s the chance to actually write it.” He suggested.

Queen Alysanne – his passion project which, unless he won a Trifecta and penned a couple of blockbusters could not happen.

“I have the – war thing and the Paedophilia scandal thing to finish and also three scripts to doctor.”

“Where is your Queen Alysanne notebook again?” Jaime asked. And damn, he was a good lawyer and a good brother.

“On my bedside table –“ He replied and he didn’t tell him that it was the tenth or even twentieth notebook about it. He kept all of them in his study, the only stuff that he still hadn’t written on a computer.

“Well, I know someone in the Crown Archives.” Jaime commented with a smug smirk.

 He waved a hand, but he was moved.

“My first thought – my very first thought was that it’s a damn shame a young woman lost her husband and a man I admire is being smeared publicly because I can’t do my pet project.” He admitted.

“You were selfish and cynical – someone alerts the press: a Lannister acting like a bastard!” Jaime said.

“Fuck you!” He said.

“Then you got drunk and are feeling sorry for yourself because you weren’t better than us for once.”

“You are better than us – you got out.”

Jaime’s face darkened. It always happened when he said that; when he said that he was the best among them because he had refused to get sucked into the madness and greed of their family.

“I did what I had to do.” Jaime replied and it didn’t make sense.

Well, it did.

But they didn’t talk about it, not even while drunk.

Christ, she was a _lucky_ woman.

“I know you did.” He replied, and suddenly he didn’t feel drunk any longer.

He looked around: Jaime lived in an elegant flat, in a secluded zone, where paparazzi would never find him unless they knew where to look.

He worked hard, harder than many people he knew – he had money, but he lived alone. He had been eating pizza when he had knocked on his door, with his laptop open and books sprawled everywhere on the table.

He had chosen that life – he had chosen to hide in plain sight, but he also did some good.

“By the way – Cersei told me Joffrey is dating Sansa Stark,” Jaime said.

“Ned Stark’s kid?” He asked.

Jaime nodded and crossed his arms over his chest as if often happened whenever Joffrey was mentioned.

“Does Cersei know she’s not one of the hookers she can pay to keep quiet?” He asked.

 _Damn!_ He hadn’t meant the tone of his voice to be so hard. He despised Joffrey, but he made an attempt – for Jaime.

“He seems fond of her.” He replied.

“He seemed fond of Tommen’s kitten and he choked it to death.” He said. Granted, he had been a kid, it _had_ to have been an accident, still – Joffrey was, well, _Joffrey._

“Tyrion – he was a child, it was an accident!” Jaime replied.

He tilted his hands up, “Fine!“  He said, deciding to drop the subject.

“I will keep an eye on her.” Jaime replied.

He would do that, he was sure of that, because he was a good, honourable man at heart, he was sure of that – but he would always do whatever Cersei asked him to do. He would always protect Joffrey.

He was his nephew, after all. Blood was thicker than water, and some blood was even thicker.

“Seriously, you have been talking about writing that script since we were kids, do it, it’s your chance!” Jaime said.

Maybe. He had a great idea for the opening sequence and he had found, perhaps, the key to finally unlock the second act, and he had ideas about the characters.

“Maybe I will – where the fuck is Bronn?” He asked. Crap, he was late!

“Went to get more pizza, why?”

“I have an appointment with Oberyn Martell,” He said.

“Anything I should know about?” Jaime asked.

He shook his head, “Just two good people who fell in love with each other at the worst possible time.”

Jaime nodded, understandingly. He might not be in the show business, but he had a working internet connection and that picture was _bloody_ everywhere, especially now that Dany had announced her pregnancy.

That was why Jorah had called him that afternoon, right after their movie had gone up in flames asking for his help. He could have used his clout, his connections to save himself from the smear campaign his wife had started to cover her infidelities and how she had almost bankrupted him, but no – not Jorah Mormont.

He had collected all the favours he was due and asked for his help to protect Dany.

“They are on a roll – they won’t respect her grief, they will leech on it and turn it into something filthy. I won’t stand it!” He had said.

“Mate,” He had replied, “You had me at ‘they are on a roll’,”

So, he had an appointment with one of the best spin doctors and PR gurus around. He had already had a conversation with Dany’s publicist and manager, and he would collect a few favours he was owed.

“Yes, you are a horrible person, Tyrion. I’m ashamed of being your brother.” Jaime said, shortly before Bronn returned.

“Fuck off –“ He replied.

They were Lannisters – love was a complicated thing in their family, but he spoke that language perfectly.

_I’m proud of you, little brother._

_I love you, big brother._

* * *

 

**Sansa – Now – III**

She wasn’t a masochist; therefore, she turned the Wi-Fi off on her phone and tablet, didn’t watch tv, didn’t skip dinner and she settled into bed, wearing her fluffiest pair of pyjamas, one of the books about Queen Alysanne she had been reading for research, and her script.  

She remembered watching her mother studying her scripts, after her sister’s death and how it hadn’t made sense at the time. She was starting to get it, however: focusing on the job, on the technical aspects of it, on the research that went behind the creation of a character was keeping her sane.

 The job  had to come first. She had to show Jon that she was worthy of the trust he had had in her when he had chosen her. She knew she lacked experience, but she had connected with her character immediately – she knew how Alysanne ticked, she knew what shame and heartbreak were, she knew the burden of having to smile and project an image of stability even while crumbling down.  

The legendary queen was, at the moment, the only thing tethering her to some kind of balance. She took a look at her script, which was filling up with stage directions and notes. She smiled – she had always wanted to have a script like that, like the ones she had seen all her life, belonging to her parents and she had one, now – and it was a great script and she couldn’t help chuckling reading some of her personal comments next to Jon’s or Tyrion’s suggestions:

_Who died and made me Meryl Streep?_

_Note to self: this movie will kill you._

_There is no way in hell Dany and I won’t fuck this up a million times during shooting._

And she had taken a look at Daario’s script and Dany’s and there were similar notes on their scripts as well. So, she wasn’t the only batshit insane person in that cast!

And until she heard the knock on her door, she almost believed that, in the end, it had just been another day on the job.

She felt a moment of pure dread – what if Joffrey had come there? What if smearing her online didn’t get him off and he wanted _more?_

What if he had sent one of his assholes friends?

No. It couldn’t be – she decided, trying to rationalise her fear and willing her body to stop being numb with it. Joffrey would never risk being seen by paparazzi, not if he wanted to hurt her. He was many things – but he wasn’t stupid.

Perhaps, she reasoned, it was Theon. He had sent her a text before boarding his plane, and he knew where she was staying. It would make sense, except that when she looked at her phone and switched on her internet connection, she got Theon’s text, that he was staying in another hotel and he asked what time she was going to start rehearsing and to get him a pass for the studios.

Typical Theon.

She got out of her bed, shivering for the cold and went to the door.

“Who is it?” She asked,

She had played the dumb bimbo who got slaughtered in a horror movie and she felt exactly like her, at the moment.

“Sansa, it’s me – Dany!” She said.

Wait – what?

It was past midnight, what the hell? They were getting along just fine, she thought they were establishing a tentative friendship, but – she usually either spent time with Jorah or on skype with her son when they weren’t working.

Anyway, she couldn’t leave her standing outside!

She opened the door and she couldn’t help noticing that Dany was wearing pyjamas under her coat, her hair was pulled up and she was holding a tub of ice cream and a bottle of wine in her hands.

She also looked like she had been kissed within an inch of her life, judging by her lips, but she let that thought slide.

Glass houses and all…

“Come in!” She said, gesturing the other woman inside.

“I come bearing gifts…” She said handing her both the ice cream and the wine.

Comfort food and booze. It was – unexpected, and sweet and she absolutely refused to start crying again.

Daenerys was looking around, inspecting her room, when her eyes settled on the script on her bed, she said, “Oh, my God – you’re on overachiever! You’re making me feel guilty!” she grinned, however, and then asked, “Can I take off my coat?”

“Sure – I’ll get some glasses, but I don’t think I have spoons.” She said.

She felt so awkward! Dany was not one of her friends – and she didn’t make new ones easily, even before Joffrey it had been hard and after him, the bulk of her social life was usually crashing at Theon’s or Maergery’s.

God, she was pathetic!

“I’ve got the spoons!” She said triumphantly, fishing two plastic spoons, wrapped in paper from her coat’s pocket.

“I’ll be right back –“ She said and disappeared in the small kitchenette to get two glasses. She was embarrassed and confused because she had no idea whether she could trust Dany, she didn’t know whom she could trust at the moment, but she couldn’t antagonize her co-star, not that night.

“Sansa –“ Dany said when she came back and handed her the glasses and a corkscrew.

“Yes?” She said.

 “Breath – “ Dany said.

And was that beard burn on her cheek or was she seeing things?

Yet, she did as her costar told her and it _almost_ worked.

“Don’t take it the wrong way, but why are you here?” She asked.

Dany handed her a glass of wine and said, “Lots of reasons: you shouldn’t be alone, for a start.”

“My brother is coming here.” She said.

“Theon or Robb?” She asked.

“Do you know them?”

“Yep, I have worked with both of them on different projects.”

“It’s Theon – he’s coming tomorrow.” She said because Theon respected her and he had seemed fond of her when they had talked about her casting.

“Good – that’s good, Robb would have been better, he’s more diplomatic.”

“It sounds like you’re picking generals for a war.” She said, but Dany wasn’t wrong. Theon was hot-tempered, he was a hurricane.

Robb, instead, would probably make paparazzi weep with a stare. He was unyielding.

He was like the drop that wore away the rock. And God, she missed him so much that it was driving her insane.

“It is a war, Sansa – we are at war. Joffrey Baratheon fucking invaded us.”

Us?

“I talked to Jorah tonight –“ She said.

 _Hence the bead burns,_ her mind supplied and she had to take a sip of wine to hide a smile.

 “Joffrey didn’t just attack you, Sansa – his career is over. His last two movies flopped, but he hasn’t had a commercial success for years – and good reviews don’t get you role, especially if you are an asshole.” Dany said.

“He is a monster.” She said, and it was the first time she ever uttered those words aloud. She hadn’t done that with her closest friends, with her family; she hadn’t needed to with Tyrion because the man knew Joffrey.

To say those words to a woman he barely knew left her breathless.

“I got a phone call from Tyrion; we sort of had a pre debriefing the three of us.”

Dany was being honest – she didn’t need to tell her that she had been with Jorah, it was none of her business, but she had chosen to do so in a show of trust.

“And what’s the consensus?” She asked.

Dany smiled and sipped her wine, “I told you: it’s war.”

 “Why don’t we sit somewhere? We look like two soap opera villains with our glasses of wine standing in front of each other.”

“Or the beginning of a porno –“ Dany replied with a wink.

She couldn’t help it, she _had_ to laugh at her words, she gestured Dany to sit on her sofa and sat next to her.

“Tyrion is a bad influence on you!” She said.

Dany laughed, “Who says it’s not the contrary?”

They kept drinking their wine in silence until Sansa asked, “It’s my fault and I’m sorry.”

“It’s not – it’s Joffrey’s,” Dany replied.

And she shook her head. Dany couldn’t understand. Daenerys who had lost her husband in a tragic accident and who had a man, Jorah, who worshipped her.

She couldn’t understand that Joffrey was truly a monster, it wasn’t just a figure of speech.

 “Okay – baby steps: did you sleep with Jon to get the part?”

“No, of course not!” She replied and if her voice came out harsh, she couldn’t care less.

“Therefore Joffrey talked out of his arse, right?” Dany said, and she realised that the woman didn’t care one way or another whether she had had sex with Jon or not. She wouldn’t have cared even if what Joffrey had said was the truth.

“Yes, because I broke off our engagement.”

“A year and a half ago – how likely is that knowing him?”

“Because he is a sick bastard,” Sansa said.

“Then why is it your fault? Because I fail to see the logic here.”

She wanted to tell her.

She truly did. She wanted to tell her that it _was_ her fault because she ha finally got scared enough and had left him; therefore, he had lost his own personal punching bag/fucktoy and he was angry, he would always try and destroy her.

She couldn’t however. Saying those words aloud would gut her, there would be nothing left of her, after.

“You don’t know Joffrey.”

“Thankfully. I’ve only met him in passing and it was enough.”

“So, what’s the plan?” She asked.

They all had plans, but what no one understood was that it was not her career she was worried about. She was scared for her _life._

“Take this,” Dany said, handing her a rectangular piece of paper.

She saw the name in it and blinked, in surprise.

“Call him, right now – he’s waiting for you. Then we’ll have ice cream”

“Dany – I can’t afford to hire him., besides he works for Cersei Lannister!”

“Worked. As of eleven p.m. tonight, he works for me. I’m going to need the best of the best in his field soon.” she said with a sweet voice and an even sweeter look on her face.

 That was – _crazy._ And she couldn’t possibly afford to be repped by that man.

“My parents have hired a good publicist for me, Jaqen H'ghar. I can’t possibly ask them –“

Dany had looked impressed with the name she had given her – he only dealt with selected clients and she didn’t want to think about how much her parents must have spent to hire him.

“Good – we’re getting there: H’ghar is the best for public appearances. And you haven’t hired anyone. I have.” She said and winked at her.

What. The. Fuck?

“Call him – now.”

“How do we know that we can trust him?”

“We can’t. But he owes Tyrion and he owes Jorah.” Dany said, “and as I said I’m going to really need him, soon.”

That woman was _scary_ when she put her mind into something. And she hadn’t been kidding: that was war, and she wanted to win it.

“Sansa, I’m not going to eat melted ice-cream. Would you call him already?”

“Yes, _Khaleesi._ ” She replied, but there was no resentment in her voice.

Dany rolled her eyes and she took her mobile phone from the pocket of her pyjamas.

She dialled the number, and the man on the other line answered right away.

“Miss Stark.” The man said.

“Mr Varis?” She said and her heart was drumming in her chest.

“I was waiting for your call.” The man said.

“So I’ve been told.”

“This will be our only contact, as you know I am Ms Stormborn’s employee.”

_Employee, my ass._

“Yes, I understand.”

“You will keep rehearsing for your movie, you will listen to what the studios have to say, within reason and what your publicist will suggest.”

That was it?

“You will also contact your family and tell them, on my behalf, that the lone wolf perishes but the pack survives.”

That – was creepy. That was something that never, _ever_ was uttered outside her family’s household. How did that man know? How could he know? It was what his father always told them – it was some kind of family motto that had never come out publicly.

How did he know that her family had decided not to intervene on the matter for the time being?

“Ms Stark, do you understand what I have said? Shall I repeat it?” The man asked.

“No, I’m just – surprised.”

“I am merely doing my job. So, do you understand? Do you understand the concept of plausible deniability?”

Of course, she did.

“Yes, of course. Two more things: I would not trust Mr Baelish with the time of the day, but do _not_ antagonize him for the time being.”

She sighed; it made sense. She was physically repulsed by Baelish’s very existence, but the man on the phone was right.

“I understand.” She said.

“Do you?” The man asked, “Good. One more thing: my birdies told me that your friend, Ms Tyrell is getting involved in this.”

“Y -yes. But she didn’t tell me what she has in mind.” Sansa replied and gave a look at Dany, who was drinking her wine and texting on her phone.

Her heart was in the right place but she was scary. Definitely scary.

“Good. Don’t ask. I shall contact her shortly.” The man said.

“My brother Theon –“

“I know.” The man said, interrupting her.

He disconnected the call and she wasn’t sure what exactly had happened: did she just sign her soul to the devil? Was she getting help?

“Let’s have our ice cream, now,” Dany said, getting up from the sofa.

“What did just happen?” She asked.

“Team GQA counterattacked.” She grinned, and sat next to her with the tub of ice cream between them.

“Team GQA?” Sansa asked, accepting the spoon Daenerys gave her.

“We are in this together,” Dany said.

She wanted to say: “it’s just a movie –“ but it wasn’t: it was a chance for Dany and Jorah, it was the movie that would define Jon’s career,  it was Tyrion’s dream, it was standing up against the Lannisters and how they made and destroyed careers and lives on whims.

Yet, trusting was hard for her – she had learned the hard way that people seldom did things out of the goodness of their hearts.

 Dany could see her doubts perhaps. After all, they had been spending time together mimicking each other – and she was a fast learner.

“I might ask you a favour down the line,” Dany said.

And she would deliver. They were a team, after all.

 

* * *

 

**Jon – Now – III**

The first thing Tormund had done when he had finally got into his room was swearing up a storm because of paparazzi. The second had been going directly to the fridge to take a beer, the third had been enveloping him in one-armed hug before saying, “You’re in deep, my friend.”

“Tell me.” John had said.

And Tormund had, to the best of his knowledge.

Before that, however, he had asked, “Have you ever met Joffrey Baratheon?”

“Yes,” He had answered, “At the Globes, last year – he was a snotty bastard.”

“Got it in one, and that’s just his public image, mate. Now I’m asking you: are you sure you want to know?”

He had nodded, Tormund had sighed and asked, “Is she at least a good actress?”

“Yes. I wouldn’t have chosen her if she weren’t, you fucking know that!” He had replied.

Tormund had drunk his beer in one gulp and then had said, “I know – so, here’s what I have heard…”

Hours later and he was – nursing a beer, trying to calm his breathing down, as Tormund’s words were still lingering in the air. And he believed him – because Tormund was incapable of lying.

He had told him that he had no proofs, that it was just rumours – but if even half of them were true Sansa must have gone through hell.

“Mind you,” Tormund had said, “I don’t know for sure – and there is no proof of that, it’s just something I heard – he used to beat the crap out of her.”

Nine words to crack his world apart – and he didn’t see it coming: not that Sansa had gone through that, and yet she smiled and had been a pro that day; she had handled everything with finesse.

It wasn’t even that Joffrey was a piece of shit that he would gladly and remorselessly punch to death. It wasn’t how he had felt short of breath and had smashed his beer against the wall when Tormund finished his tale.

It was the fact that he had gone to the door and only the idea of scaring Sansa, that late at night, had stopped him from going to check on her.

“I’ve never seen you like that!” Tormund said.

And the thing was – he had _never_ felt like that for anyone.

“I’ve never felt like that –“ He admitted.

“Like what?” Tormund asked.

“Like I want to throw up and kill someone at the same time.”

He sat on a chair and took his face in his hands.

“Why is he doing this to her?” He asked.

“Because he is a Lannister, he’s very, very much a Lannister.” Tormund said.

His friend didn’t run a gossip column; he had friends and ears everywhere. His blog had become a point of reference in the business.

“Tyrion isn’t like that. He is a good man.”

Tormund shrugged, “He is not a cunt like his sister and his father, that’s for sure –“

“What can I do? How can we stop this?” Jon asked.

“I can help with the movie, no problems, mate – Baratheon is an idiot and the shit he pulled will backfire, as for your Sansa –”

“She is _not_ my Sansa!” He growled.

Tormund actually snorted loudly at his words but didn't otherwise say anything.

“You are in deep, mate. Is she worth it?” He asked.

Yes. Yes, she was. And he was frankly too tired to even pretend otherwise, besides Tormund knew him too well.

His friend said, “You might as well tell me about the movie, give me juicy material to stick it to Baratheon.”

“I am not using Sansa – I am _not_ like him!”

“And I’m not bloody Melisandre! You want the world to see what you see? You have to show it! Sansa Stark is not made of porcelain, she won’t break. If Baratheon didn’t break her, you surely won’t!”

_If Baratheon didn’t break her._

What if he did?

Then he would do everything in his power to undo his damage.

“I won’t let anyone, not even you, hurt Sansa!” Jon said, meaning every word.

“If she sucks, I will be gentle, I promise!” Tormund said, he grinned and said, “And you’re making the noise again….”

“What noise?” Jon asked.

Tormund laughed and said, “Nevermind, Snow. Now you know – go and get some sleep, you have a movie to make and know that you are the one who’s risking everything here, the others have something else to fall back on.”

He was aware. And he didn’t care.

Not that time. 

 


	6. The Rehearsals - part two -

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Team GQA's counteroffensive to Joffrey's tweets and the mess they caused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all: so, so, sorry for the delay in updating. This chapter has been kicking my ass for almost a month and work is sort of crazy.  
> As ever, thanks to @Jyia for her support and for being awesome.  
> This chapter will be split into two parts because AO3 won't let me upload a whopper of 35 pages.  
> Jonsa is coming.

 

**From Twitter:**

@ **YgritteWildingsVerified** : I’ve been in the arse end of the world for a month, I’ve just come back and what do I find? People nuts over tweets made by some wanker who should lay down the crack pipe.

 

@ **YgritteWildingsVerified** : For the record: # **JonSnow** is the kindest, most honest man I have ever met. He is also a professional and he would cut his dick off before he casting couched anyone. Sorry, @ **JoffreyBaratheonAuthentic** but you’re clearly confused!

 

@ **YgritteWildingsVerified** : I don’t know Sansa Stark, never even met her, but are we in the middle ages? Was I in Narnia for the past month and slut-shaming became suddenly ok here?  # **IStandWithSansa**

 

* * *

 

 

**From Twitter: #jonsa Groupchat**

 

 **jonsnowdeservedanoscar** : omfg guys, that’s getting crazier by the second!! Did you see Ygritte’s tweets? 

 

 **sansaAlysanne01** : oh, thank fuck! Someone is finally talking, even if it’s Jon’s ex! Wtf are they waiting for?

 

 **khaleesiandtheprofessor** : omfg, they’re reblogging it like crazy!  Everyone!

 

 **jonsnowdeservedanoscar** : Dany has just started following Ygritte – wow.

 

 **snowismyfire** : aaand shots fired! The Starks are reblogging it – I didn’t think I would ever see the day where Ned fucking Stark would have a twitter account!

                                                                              

 **jonsnowdeservedanoscar** : omfg Arya!!! 

 

 **fireanice856** : Arya is my hero! Omg, someone screenshot this, now and send it to Baratheon! Just kidding! Anyway, @ **sansaalysanne01** I don’t know why they haven’t said anything – damage control? Do you want me to ask the itk?

 

 **snowismyfire** : yeah, you do that. I just hate what is happening to Jon and Sansa, in the videos they both look like crap. I also hate myself for watching those videos ‘cause it feels like I’m feeding the beast, you know?

 

 **jonsnowdeservedanoscar** : they’re everywhere, it’s not like you can really ignore it and even when we try to the Barafreaks are posting that stuff everywhere!

 

 **jornaerysownsme** : Oh, Jesus – can I marry Robb Stark? That man is a class act. The question is – what can we do, as fans, to help them? When the picture came out the jornaerys fandom banded as one, we let it die and never mentioned what was happening, you might not know that, but it was pretty brutal.  Couldn't we do something like that?

 

 **Khaleesiandqueen:** I remember – did you see the pics of Jorah when they got in the studios today? Must be bringing back some nasty memories. I’m not even a fan of Sansa, but that must suck pretty bad, it’s unfair!

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m picking you up when you finish – you’re staying with me until this shit settles,” Theon said over the phone.

She rolled her eyes while she finished brushing her teeth, she rinsed her mouth and then said, “I have a driver – and you hated it when you had to babysit me!”

“That’s because I was a stroppy teenager, I mean it, Sansa – you’re staying with me!” Theon said.

To be someone who usually spent his days in his flat, wearing pyjamas, Theon could be quite quick to get things done when he wanted to. She had suspicions that their parents had lent a hand with that; she could just see her mother having the lease signed for a flat in a matter of hours while she did all the millions of things she did at once.

Catherine Stark née Tully: multitasking extraordinaire.

“Pack your stuff, or hire a bloody p.a. to do that, you can’t stay at the hotel – it’s crazy outside!”

“Wait, are you outside the hotel?” She asked, “that’s not stalkerish, at all!”

“No, genius! I’m on my way to the airport to pick up a friend. It just happens to be in the way.”

Theon was usually a good liar, but that time he was – terrible. He was truly a terrible liar, but she was nevertheless moved by his concern.

“You’ll help me pack tonight when I get back, I’m not hiring a p.a! Listen, I gotta go! We have that thing to do and then we have a million scenes to rehearse.”

She heard Theon groan and then her brother said, “Fine, text me when you want me to pick you up. We’re having Thai for dinner.” A pause and then Theon said, “Shit, it’s late, Maeg is going to kill me!”

Maeg?

“Theon?” She called.

Her brother had disconnected the call.

There was only one Maeg he knew – and it was Maergery Tyrell. Why would she want to kill him?

She shook her head and put her phone in the pocket of her jeans. She looked at herself in the mirror. It was time to face yet another day of bright flashes and insults. She could do it. She didn’t need to smile, she didn’t need to even be really there, she just needed to walk to her car and then go to rehearsal.

She could do it – she would. Even if Jon hadn’t spoken to her for over a day.

 

* * *

 

 

**From Variety:**

**Maergery Tyrell to join Matthew Goode in  HBO’s limited series The Eleventh Hour.**

 

_Maergery Tyrell just signed on to play the lead_ _character_ _alongside Matthew Goode in the limited series “The Eleventh Hour”, the psychological thriller sees Goode playing the role of a widowed father whose life is shaken when his daughter gets kidnapped. Tyrell, last seen in the horror movie The Red Curtain last year, will play the role of the detective inspector who investigates on the kidnapping and finds out disturbing facts about Goode’s character_ _and his past_ _. Principal photography is set to begin in Belfast next month._

 

**Keep Reading…**

* * *

 

 No one in her family was in the show business. Her father had been – petrified with surprise when she announced that she wanted to be an actress. Her mother, whose greatest achievement in life, had been to marry her father and bear his children came from very old money and she did not understand the concept of working.

She came from a privileged background, which meant that she knew more people than the average struggling actor, and she never had to wait tables or work in retail to pay her rent.

Everything she knew about networking, about making alliances and keeping them, about succeeding without compromising herself she had learned from her grandmother: Lady Olenna Tyrell; she had raised her, because her mum couldn’t be bothered – her job, in her mind, had been to bear the children, everything else had not been her responsibility.

Her grandmother was the smartest person she had ever met; not many people knew that she used to work for their Government during the war and after, during the Cold War. She had been breathtakingly beautiful when she was young and she had known how to use her physical aspect without ever having to compromise herself. She was the one who taught her that sometimes playing dumb was the best safety net one could have.

Her grandmother had taught her to be kind, to be generous, to do the right thing, but also how to catch good opportunities when they presented themselves.

When she read Joffrey Baratheon’s tweets she was furious, she was angry on her friend's behalf. Yes, it was clear Sansa and Jon Snow had chemistry and she had been rather vague about him on the phone before that mess went down, but Baratheon had just wanted to be cruel and vindictive.

He had also been very stupid – and if it wasn’t that he had hurt one of her closest friends she would pity him.

Reputation was everything in their job; soon Baratheon would be forced to realise that he couldn’t hide behind his mum’s gowns forever.

She had been furious, but after she had texted Sansa she had refrained from being active on social media until she could think straight. She hadn’t been idle. She never was.

Networking was pivotal – and she was very good at that.

She had wanted to help Sansa because it was the right thing to do because she was her friend and she didn’t deserve what had happened to her.

The phone call she had got from Mr Varys, and their meeting the day before,  had added a new layer to her desire to help Sansa Stark.

Mr Varys was immensely powerful: he could make or unmake a career with a phone call. He knew everyone and everything about all the people that were somehow even remotely connected to his clients. His name didn’t appear anywhere in magazines because he was the one who controlled them, who made them earn their living.

He had known about her phone calls and messages – how, she had no idea – he had known that she had tested for the show on HBO, a show who would be shot in the same studios as Good Queen Alysanne and he had known about her plan.

“Allow me to help.” He had said.

Sansa was not his client, however. He had been very clear about that – and she knew only too well how plausible deniability worked. What it had mattered to her was that Joffrey has lost one of his most powerful assets and even though Varys didn’t work for her, he had made sure the role for the miniseries would go to her.

She knew she was a good actress, but she was under no delusions as far as her newest gig went. That was okay, however. She would only have to work harder at what she did.

And she would have to keep weaving her net.

Her mobile phone vibrated, it was Theon. They were in constant touch because when she had asked him if he wanted to get on board with her plan he had accepted, no questions asked and he was helping her. He had even volunteered to come and get her at the airport, even though she was perfectly capable of calling a cab or renting a car.

“I’m late, I’m sorry, bloody traffic!” Theon said as a way of greeting.

“I’m having coffee – so, take your time.” She replied.

They chatted and she heard him cursing while driving and then apologising. He was – such a contradiction: he was immensely talented but reserved, fiercely protective of his family but he used his birth name on the job.

He was funny, even charming when he wanted to, but he was also out for Joffrey’s blood. The Starks had made their presence known on Twitter, but Theon was the one who was risking everything; she admired him.

“I didn’t tell Sansa,” He said.

“Good – we’ll surprise her tonight. And remember –“

“Not a word. On my life!” Theon finished.

She couldn’t help the goosebumps she felt on her arms when she heard the vehemence in the man’s voice. 

 She had heard from other people close to Sansa – and they would help. Even Robb had agreed, but no one was so passionate about it.

She had her suspicions as to what was the reason – but she didn’t want to presume, her grandmother had taught her better than that.

One thing she knew for sure, given all the data she had at hand, was that Joffrey Baratheon was going down. One way or another.

In the meantime, she had an Instagram story to make.

* * *

 

 

**From _Melisandre Gossip: Celebrity Gossip, News, Photos, Rumours_**

 

_Good Queen Alysanne cast and crew back to rehearsals after Joffrey Baratheon’s tweets became viral._

_Unlike last night, where the cast and crew left the studios separately, only a few hours after Joffrey Baratheon’s tweets were picked up by the major entertainment magazines, the cast and crew arrived together to the studios this morning._

_I don’t know why, but I find it cute that the cast is carpooling to work, just like us mere mortals! In the pictures we see Sansa Stark walking with line producer Brienne Tarth at her right, followed by Daenerys Stormborn and Jorah Mormont and, a few steps behind them, director Jon Snow and assistant director Beric Dondarrion are seen_ _chatting_ _with director of photography Davos Seaworth._

_None of them look exactly thrilled in the pictures, but who can blame them? As much as Sansa  Stark 's casting still baffles me, what happened yesterday was unpleasant. Sources close to production assured me_ _,_ _however, that the whole cast and crew is_ very supportive _both_ _of_ _Sansa and their director._

_Speaking of the cast: am I seeing things or were Daenerys Stormborn and Jorah Mormont holding hands in the first picture?_

 

* * *

 

**Transcription of the video posted on Jorah Mormont’s brand-new Instagram account, initially linked by Daenerys Stormborn, Sansa Stark, Daario Naaris, Tyrion Lannister and the official “Good Queen Alysanne” Instagram account.**

_The screen is black, initially, it gradually fades to a_ _soundstage_ _, we hear Sansa Stark  in a voice-over, giving a dramatic reading of Joffrey’s tweets, we see Jorah Mormont, dressed in black,_ _walking toward the centre of the room,_ _looking straight_ _into_ _the camera before saying:_

_JM: Hello, my name is Jorah Mormont and I fucked Jon Snow to get the part._

_The scene_ _cuts to Daenerys Stormborn, dressed in black as well, her hair pinned in a severe bun, looking at the camera and saying, “Hi, I’m Daenerys Stormborn and I fucked Jon Snow to get this part!”_

_One by one, all the actors and crew members, all dressed in black, say the same thing, even Tyrion who says: “Hello, I am Tyrion Lannister, I didn’t have to, but I fucked Jon Snow **twice** to get him to do the movie!” _

_Jon is the last one, he is wearing glasses, he’s dressed in black like the others and says, “Hello, I’m Jon Snow and I had to fuck Jon Snow to get the part.” He furrows his brows and adds, “Wait – what?”_

_The screen fades to black and then to Sansa, who is wearing black as well, she is serious and deadpan when she says, “Hello, I’m Sansa Stark and you busted us! We are making a porno!”_

_She winks an eye as the screen fades to black._

* * *

 

 

**Day 6 of Rehearsals**

 

She hated corsets and gowns, and she was envious that Dany didn’t have to wear them, not even in one scene.

“I paid my dues, sweetheart!” She had said the day before when she had mentioned it to her.

She felt like she had ended up in some kind of parallel universe: one where the whole cast and crew hadn’t opposed to the idea of shooting what would become, after a night of hard work by Samwell Tarly and Jon, with Theon’s unofficial help (how did he know, she had no clue), their answer to Joffrey’s tweets and the hell they were still causing. Everyone: from Dany to Brienne, to their stand-ins had said those words in front of a camera. It had to be a parallel universe, one where her whole family and half the town had commented on Jorah’s post on Instagram,  repeating what they had all said in the video (everyone but her, because Oberyn Martell had vetoed that part of the video) and the hashtag I Stand With Sansa had been trending worldwide for over a day. 

It had not stopped paparazzi from hounding them and the day before had been even worse, with reporters – actual reporters with cameras wanting answers.

It had been – brutal, but nothing compared to what had happened the previous night when they had left the soundstage and paparazzi had swarmed around Jon, who had looked absolutely mystified until one of them had screamed, “Hey, does Sansa still have a gag reflex or Baratheon trained it out of her? Bet you’re grateful!”

His reaction had been caught on camera, unfortunately.

Jon Snow was a good, decent man. He was a talented director and to add it to the already remarkable list of impressive things about him he had been gruffly charming in the video they had made, showing he had comedic timing and didn’t take himself too seriously when he wasn’t working.

Jon was also human – and she couldn’t honestly begrudge him for his reaction. Who the hell was she kidding? She had been moved to tears after she had seen the video.

Jon had forgotten that they were not supposed to have any reaction to what paparazzi screamed at them to get good shots to sell or videos to get more clicks.

“Fuck off!” He had growled, pure rage in his eyes and if Davos and Beric hadn’t been here, not too subtly pushing him away he would have hit the man who had said those words; it had been crystal clear in his eyes.

Jon hadn’t hit the man, but his reaction, like everything they were doing, had become viral on the internet. The weird thing was that the feedback had been mostly positive from what she had been told by Theon and Maergery (and that, was another can of worms she _truly_ didn’t want to open!).

People online were rooting for Jon – and not just his fans.

It was – surreal, and yes, Dany and Jorah flirting on Instagram had sort of defused the situation at first, but still, the way people were calling Jon her knight in shining armour was _weird_ and endearing and heartbreaking, all at the same time.

And as much as Jon’s reaction had moved her, as much as she hated the fact that his face telling a paparazzi to fuck off after he had insulted her was everywhere because of those bloody tweets,  she would gladly throttle him because he had been a pain in the arse all day!

Granted, they had been rehearsing more scenes than they were originally supposed to because they had lost one day to shoot the video – and yes, most of the scenes were technical nightmares; Jon, however, was getting on her last nerve!

The dance scene was going to be the death of them! When she first saw the storyboard, what it felt like a hundred years before, she had looked at it with wonder – now that she was rehearsing the damn thing, she wanted to murder Jon Snow in his sleep! In the script, there was a clear dichotomy between Anne and Alysanne which had become more and more blurred as they rehearsed. Therefore, it was a nightmare and she still had no clue about how they would actually shoot the _bloody_ scene because Jon had been a stroppy bastard for hours!

“Let’s start from the beginning!” Jon said again, and even Brienne looked ready to throw something at him.

They all got along famously, Joffrey’s tweets and the tsunami it had caused had cemented their relationship; that said – they had been in the soundstage all day, it was late and she was _tired._

She exchanged a look with Dany and Jorah who shrugged, the woman sighed and went back to her mark, followed by the blonde man. Daario ran a hand through his dark hair and got close to her.

 _Do not flinch!_ She reminded herself when he touched her. It had happened on the first couple of days of rehearsal and thankfully Jon hadn’t seen it and she had chalked it up to being cold to Daario, who was a sweet man, when he dropped his macho image.

“And – action!” Jon said.

The music started and Jorah and Dany started their part – the choreographer following their movements like a hawk, ready to adjust their positions if they made any mistake.

Both Daario and her counted – it was a complicated choreography and they had been at it for hours; it was the penultimate scene for the day and didn’t Jon need to sleep?

They had to be perfectly in sync and they didn’t miss a beat that time, they started their part – and that was when things got crazy: she would dance with Jorah, Darioo with Dany and then they would go back to their original partners – and Jon didn’t want to make it possible thanks to editing or CGI.

So far, so good – Jon was observing them, the choreographer was shutting up and she went dancing with Jorah.

He was tired, but also gentle when he took her in his arms and lead her; they knew their part of the choreography and it was brief; that part of the movie was all in Anne’s mind as she slipped further and further into Alysanne’s life.

Jon wasn’t talking and they only had the last part to go.

She wanted out of that corset and that gown and wanted to go home and sleep for a millennium or two!

Jorah started to count down and she did the same – a beat and she was again into Daario’s arms.

“Cut!” Jon said after a couple of seconds and she recognised immediately that tone of voice.

 Nuclear Snow meltdown coming in 3, 2, 1 …

The choreographer said, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” before throwing her hands up in the air, declaring she was going to have a coffee and told Jon to get it together by the time she came back.

“No!” Jon said, ignoring the woman, “Not like that! You love her! She is not some bird you’re picking up in a bar! She’s not a piece of meat! She is the woman who is putting everything on the line for you! This could be the last time you have _this_! And you’re in public and it’s bloody killing you!”

The silence that fell in the room when Jon finished talking was thick. She felt everyone’s eyes on her and her cheeks flushed red with embarrassment.

Daario was looking at Jon with raised eyebrows – because that was what he had been trying to do, and – it had been fine.

Apparently, however, it wasn’t for Jon who strode toward them and gave Daario a hard look, silently prompting him to back off from her and took his place.

 _What the –_ she thought.

Jon’s arm slid behind her back, he took one hand in his and started to lead her.

And she got it. She got what Jon had wanted from Daario and also why he had interrupted them because she had never, _ever_ been touched like that.

And it didn’t matter that it was just all pretending, it didn’t matter that Jon was showing his lead actor how to do a scene; there was passion, devotion, _love_ in his touch, in the way he led her while they danced, and she truly felt what Alysanne's husband felt; it was the agony of wearing a public facade, knowing that they might  lose each other - it was all _there_ in the way Jon was holding her and his dark eyes bore into hers.

Alysanne was supposed to be completely mesmerized by her husband, heartbroken because they could lose each other, and she was feeling it all.

And, perhaps, that wasn't just acting because she couldn't tear her eyes off of Jon, and it felt so _good_ to be able to do that, after days spent being hyperaware of his presence even though he had barely looked at her.

Was that how the Queen felt on the last night she spent with her beloved husband before they were parted?

She was moving and didn’t even need to look down at the marks on the floor or count the steps in her head. Jon was there.

His movements were fluid and he was keeping her rooted in that space: Alysanne’s, theirs, and his words kept echoing in her head.

_She’s not a piece of meat!_

A fucktoy. A pretty face, with pretty tits and legs who made for nice arm candy and a passable lay.

_You love her!_

She could feel it – in the way she was held, in the way she was looked at and led; she felt safe, she felt cherished.

 

_This is the last time you will have this!_

 

She could feel _that_ too; the tragedy of two people who had loved each other desperately and were afraid that their time together might soon come to an end. She felt tears welling her eyes and was perfectly aware that Jon was noticing, but couldn’t stop them. She wasn’t strong enough.

It was too much – it wasn’t fair! It wasn’t fair that they fit so well together and he could make her feel so bloody much. It wasn’t fair that he was just pretending, showing Daario how he had pictured that scene in his mind, what he wanted them to accomplish and her heart was cracking in her chest.

It wasn’t fair that he was just pretending while she was falling in love with him, and was too tired to even try and pretend otherwise.

The music came to an end and for a moment they stayed in each other’s arms, his dark eyes fixed on hers, their fingers laced, their bodies close.

She felt one tear make its way down her left cheek, and Jon stepped back – a look akin panic in his eyes.

“Jon –“ Daario said.

He didn’t listen to him, he didn’t even look at her as he left the soundstage, slamming the door behind him.

He knew – he had to, because she wasn’t that good of an actress – Jorah, Dany, Daario and the other people in the room had all seen it - and, of course, he had left – because she was damaged goods, she was a nuisance, and he was a good man and she didn’t deserve him.

She closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them she would pretend that it didn’t matter, that she had been just carried away with the scene and that everything was fine. No one would believe her, but they would pretend to because they were nice people and they wanted the movie not to be a flop.

And she would – smile. Yes, she would smile and pretend her heart wasn’t breaking.

 

* * *

 

 

He kicked the door of his office, first – after he slammed it shut behind him when he got in. He slammed his closed fist against the wall at his side, then, idly noticing that if he had punched it, he would have probably broken his hand. He ran his hands through his hair.

What the fuck was his problem?

What had he done?

 

_Showed your hand to your cast and crew, you git._

That was only fair since he had shown it to the whole world the previous day!

He had done well, all things considered. Sure, sleeping was becoming more and more elusive; he had spent a night with Samwell and Theon Greyjoy editing the video that Jorah had later posted on Instagram.

Theon had not said a word, not after he had called him.

“You said not to be a stranger,” He had said.

“What can I do?” Sansa’s brother had asked. 

He had done well – even after Theon had studied him, hours later, when the video was finally edited and all three of them were satisfied with the results and he might have spent a considerable long time staring at Sansa laughing in one of the bloopers (they would go online in a couple of days, on Dany’s Instagram)  and said, “She feels guilty about all of this, you know?”

He had meant well, but his words had been like being gutted – because Sansa was the last person that should feel guilty about what had happened! It was Joffrey’s fault for being a fucking psychopath, his own for not protecting her. Not Sansa’s.

Nonetheless, he had thought he had done well, the day before during rehearsal even if he had seen Sansa flinching from time to time when Daario touched her and he wanted to deck his leading actor, even if he didn’t know and had looked genuinely concerned for Sansa.

 He hadn’t decked Daario – and he hadn’t been a mother hen to Sansa, going against all his instincts.

He had even thought he had gotten better at ignoring paparazzi and their words. He didn’t truly care when they insulted him – but when that asshole had mentioned Joffrey Baratheon – and the things he might have done to Sansa he had seen red.

For a moment, he could hear Tormund telling him the few things he knew about them, and since he wasn’t a bullshitter and couldn’t lie to save his life, he believed him.

He had told the asshole to fuck off – but he would have probably hit him. Over and over because he couldn’t have the real thing.

He had been a proper bastard to his cast and crew that day – which was unlike him. Yes, he had a temper, he was aware of that. He could be a pain in the arse – as his actors and crewmembers had told him, time and again – but he did not _fuck_ up.

His personal life and his job had never, ever crossed.

Whatever problem he might have in his personal life he never brought it to work.

He had been adamant about keeping his private life and his work separate. Ygritte had told him not to be a bloody martyr or a monk when she had dumped him, but she should have known better.

He didn’t fuck around and he did not sleep with people he worked with. The first was because it wasn’t like him, it had never been – and the latter was because the job came first. His loyalty had always been first and foremost to his job.

He had lost one woman because of that and it had broken his heart.

But Sansa…

He kicked a chair and closed his eyes.

Sansa – who looked like a Pre-Raphaelite painting brought to life by a genius artist, who  had listened to Martell’s words about how to deal with “the mess” without ever pointing out that it was her reputation that had been put through a meat grinder, who had not missed a line or a mark, who knew the script like the back of her hand and was always willing to help in any way she could.

Sansa who wore too many layers of clothes and had brought lemon-cakes the day before to brighten their moods because their schedule had been insane.

Sansa who wore corsets and gowns as if she was born to do that, even if she hated them and spent time comparing notes with Daenerys about how much they sucked.

Sansa – who had given her all in the dance scene for hours and she had been shaking when Daario had touched her.

He shouldn’t have –

He should have kept his mouth shut and ignored the tiny tremors he had seen in her arms.

He had hated the way Daario had touched her – he had hated what he was seeing and he had opened his big mouth and shown everyone the truth.

Everyone, including Sansa.

“Shit!” He growled, feeling like an idiot because, really, what would punch things and curse accomplish?

 Sansa didn’t need _that._

He tensed, when he heard the door behind him open, without knocking.

“I’ll be right there.” He said, without turning.

He needed a goddamned minute! He had a thick skin, that was true – but it had been three long days and he needed a fucking moment to himself to regroup!

“Jon.” Davos Seaworth said.

He sighed. Had it been anyone else, even Tyrion, he would have sent them away – Davos, however, was a good friend: they had worked together since his first movie, when he, a veteran director of photography, had trusted a young director with no experience whatsoever except stuff he had done at Uni and accepted to work for him, basically for free.

Ever since then Davos and him had always worked together: he was the only person who truly got the way he thought, how he wanted things done and he had never disappointed him.

The man got in the room and Jon deflated, sitting on a chair.

Tormund was a good friend as well, and he had warned him that he was in too deep. Davos, however, was there with him every day. He knew Sansa, he had known her since her screen test.

“I fucked up.” He said.

“Did you?” The man asked, furrowing his brow, “Why? I saw a director doing his job over there.”

He scoffed.

_Right._

No. He had not been a director; he had been foolish – he had followed his instinct and had wanted –

He _wanted_ –

No. He – _loved_ Sansa.

And it was driving him insane.

“Jon – do you know what are they doing back there?” Davos asked.

He shook his head. He was almost afraid to hear Davos’ answer.

“It’s almost midnight and they’re waiting for you. Do you know how many people complained about the long hours? I checked with Brienne: zero. Do you know how rare is it?”

He knew. That, however, didn’t make him feel better.

 “People aren’t just checking their egos at the doors, they’re fucking leaving them at home!” Davos said.

“ _You_ are doing this! They believe in you!”

He looked at Davos, blinking and shook his head.

“You set yourself up to impossibly high standards, lad.” Davos continued.

How could he not see? He had failed himself, he had failed Sansa and it wasn’t right!

 

_You love her_

_You are in public and it’s killing you!_

Had he spoken about Daario’s character motivations or his own? When did the lines start to blur?

 Davos picked up the other chair from the floor, the one he had kicked, and then sat on it saying, “What do you think you did in the soundstage?”

Jon shook his head. No. He couldn’t deal with that – he couldn’t tell anyone and not because walls had ears as Tyrion had told them when they went back to rehearse. If he told Davos then it would be unequivocally true and he wouldn’t be able to take it back. He knew that he wouldn’t want to.

“I fucked up.” He said mulishly.

“Why? Because you care about a girl?” Davos asked.

What the hell was that Notting Hill? That wasn’t a rom-com and he didn’t believe in fairy tales! Real life didn’t work that way!

“Yeah, that’s exactly why.” He admitted finally because Davos had known him for a long time and he knew that lying through his teeth would not get him out of his office.

“I saw a good director showing how the scene had to be made because his lead actor was too tired and was phoning it in.”

Daario wasn’t the problem. He hadn’t been phoning it in – it wasn’t his fault.

“I saw a young actress becoming a better one because she trusted her director,” Davos said, and he knew his friend, he was like a dog with a bone; he wouldn’t let it go.

“I also saw a man caring about a woman who is going through some shit right now, true. I saw you being decent.”

He shot him an incredulous look. “Really? Are you starting to suck up to me now?”

Davos shrugged, “You don’t want to hear the truth anyway.”

He jerked up from his chair and started pacing the room. Davos kept looking at him, without adding a word.

He knew that when he would go back to the sound stage, they would rehearse the last scene for the day, it didn’t matter how late it was – and no one, except the studios, would complain. He knew that Sansa would be a professional – even if her eyes had been brimming with tears and one had spilt on her cheek and he was supposed to be perceptive, but he didn’t have a clue whether she had got in character or he had triggered her, somehow.

Davos couldn’t know about what Tormund had told him. No one could – it would be yet another violation for Sansa.

No one would say a word and they would all pretend that he had just been doing his job. He knew better, however.

“Why did you leave?” Davos asked after he had run once again his hands through his hair.

“You bloody well know why! I told you!” Jon replied.

Why couldn’t he leave him alone? Everything would be fine once he regrouped. He had pretended for weeks, he could keep doing so.

“I have some ideas, yes – but I’m not a bloody seer now, am I?” He said.

He looked at him, pleading him with his eyes not to push the issue.

“You care about your lead actress and I see nothing wrong with that, despite your bloody rules!” Davos said, his tone and his eyes were kind. He was truly trying to understand – but he was completely missing the point!

“Do you think that’s the problem? Do you think I lost it because of some stupid rule I set out when I was a kid?” He asked.  The only reason he had imposed that rule on himself was not to make things complicated – because it didn’t matter how crazy or pathetic his life became, his job kept him sane.

But could things get _more_ complicated than they already were?

“I don’t know, Jon – why don’t _you_ tell me?”

“I can’t do this…” He whispered, not even realising at first that he had spoken. When he did, he looked at Davos and he didn’t remember ever feeling so powerless in his life.

Davos looked confused and concerned.

He didn’t add anything – he couldn’t.

He couldn’t tell him that he couldn’t get too close to Sansa, that he shouldn’t have to in the first place – that his job was to guide her, direct her, protect her – not _harm_ her.

He smiled at Davos, however, because he was his director and he was needed. “There’s a reason why I never directed rom-coms, mate,”

_I can’t do this to her…_

 

 “I don’t believe in them!” He said.

Davos shook his head but didn’t comment on his words. He let it go.

“I’ll be back in a minute.” He said.

The older man nodded and left the room without saying a word. He closed his eyes, breathing heavily through his nose.

He would go back to the soundstage and do his job. They would be very busy soon, and he would let it go. For Sansa.

_She deserves more._

 

* * *

 


	7. The Last Days of Rehearsals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the last days of rehearsals bring forth some revelations and some ghosts from the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for description of past abuse

**From the website Blind Gossip: The #1 Blind Item Site in The World**

 

_Submitted by **The Night King**_

****

_Which young A- actor, with a massive following on social media, has the studios and his family to cover up his vices?_

_He is apparently the sort of boy you would bring home to your parents: young, handsome, rich, talented, charming and smart. That is, however, a carefully constructed façade._

_The official reason for his single status is that he is not ready to commit after the end of a very public relationship. The truth, however, is that he is content with paying hookers and letting the studios deal with the aftermath of his encounters._

_Until his movies were successful no one dared to speak, now things are changing for this golden boy._

_His future, it seems, is far from being perfect._

_Actor:_

* * *

**Day 7 of Rehearsal**

It was very rare that his sister sent him texts, it was even rarer that she asked for a conference call. As much as he loathed it, he still had to work with her from time to time, and he had accepted his family’s partial funding of Good Queen Alysanne because – well, because the movie would have the exposure he had wanted for it.

Cersei was usually very glad to delegate and not having to deal with him. The feeling was entirely mutual. Joffrey was riding the wave of the media exposure that had followed his tweets and he didn’t seem to grasp that each tweet, each interview and soundbite were nails in his coffin.

Therefore,  while the text had been a surprise, the request for a conference call hadn’t.

He loathed Joffrey – he would have punched him gladly when the whole mess had gone down. He had tried to reason with Cersei because they were still a family, it wasn’t his fault that she had played obtuse.

Everything that had come after that, had been necessary.

It wasn’t his fault if his nephew was more hated than he had thought. It wasn’t his fault if Daenerys Stormborn had her own plans and wasn’t afraid of playing dirty. It wasn’t his fault if Sansa Stark was so bloody adorable in that video that everyone had fallen a little in love with her when they watched it.

It wasn’t his fault if Jon Snow was a possessive idiot who had fallen in love with his leading lady and was acting like a bloody knight in shining armour with a possessive steak the side of Northern Ireland!

“How can I help you, sister?” He said, greeting her.

She looked perfect, as usual. Lannisters could never be anything else. Even if it was late at night and she must have been working non stop all day, hair and makeup were still impeccable, the only sign that betrayed both the late hour and her state of mind was that she had unbuttoned her shirt and rolled up the sleeves.

She was seething with anger.

Good thing Bronn wasn’t in the room – or things would escalate even more quickly than he currently anticipated.

Christ, he needed a drink for that!

“We agreed that Sansa Stark would have to deal with it!” Cersei said.

So, she hadn’t played being obtuse – she _was_ being obtuse on purpose!

“She has, in fact.” He said. He had to resist the urge of sounding like a patronising bastard because he was tired and he wanted to go home and get some bloody sleep!

“By taking Mr. Varys away from Joffrey?” Cersei asked.

“She didn’t – you have been misinformed. Also, last time I checked Varys is not a dog. He had a better offer. Shit happens, sister. You should know!”

“That video –”

“Was my idea! We had to react, and everything else would have been a mistake.” He said and he was starting not to care how he sounded.

It was also the truth – the video had been his idea, but Dany had come up with the one of involving everyone: cast and crew alike in mocking Joffrey’s tweets. He had honestly not expected that so many people would first be part of that video and then spread it. In a short few days, Joffrey Baratheon had become a laughing stock, an internet meme – but it had also become very clear, how little support his nephew had in the industry.

“I don’t believe it! It was clearly Varys’ plan!” Cersei said.

It wasn't about Varys. Not completely, at least. Cersei wasn't an amateur;  she knew that people like Varys could not be kept on a leash.

No, and he could see it in her eyes: she was worried.

"I don't care what you believe, Cersei." He replied.

"How did you convince him to work for that bitch?" She asked.

He grinned. He could tell her the truth, he could tell her that Varys had loved the challenge, that he owed him, that he hated Joffrey more than anyone because cleaning up his messes was becoming more and more difficult.

He settled for shrugging his shoulders and say, "It doesn't matter. It worked!"

She could threaten him, make his job a living hell, but she wasn't. Why? That was unlike her.

And then he realised the reason why: her son had fucked up and her hands were tied: whatever she did could spectacularly backfire and Joffrey, at the moment, was vulnerable. 

"The lead actress of Chazelle's movie refuses to work with Joffrey.” She said, and he could see how much it was costing her to say that. She had always been so proud of her son, she had fought hard to keep up the image she had so carefully crafted for him.

He had heard the news through the grave pine; he had heard that Joffrey’s screen test had been excellent, as usual, but that the last word went to the female lead, who had an Oscar, more clout and was not afraid of Cersei Lannister.

“Scott’s office isn’t returning his calls.” Cersei continued.

“Well, he is a personal friend of Ned Stark’s.” He commented. He hadn’t known that, but he knew for a fact that Ned Stark was furious, and the man didn’t know the half of what his nephew had done to his beloved daughter.

“But I still don’t understand why are you telling me this.” He continued.

He honestly didn’t. What did she expect him to do? He had power, true – but it went nowhere near his sister’s.

_Oh._

“Joffrey will apologise for his tweets, he will do the whole dog and pony show. We are working on it.” She said, and it felt like she was chewing glass. It was painful to watch her say those words. Lannisters weren’t used to apologising, none of them had been wired that way.

“Okay…?” He said. Because – what could he tell her? Despite everything it was his family, his own blood, he had protected Joffrey too in the past.

Cersei looked like she was about to say something, he even thought for a moment, that she might throw a tantrum and ask them to stop mocking his son.

“Will you consider it satisfactory?” She asked, instead.

“He didn’t call _me_ a whore.” He replied, “he didn’t accuse _me_ of fucking an actress to get her the role.”

“It was a mistake –“ She said between clenched teeth.

“Perhaps he could join us mortals and face the consequences of his actions, for once.” He said and, fuck it, he had lost the ability to pretend.

Cersei threw him a murderous look but didn’t talk.

“He will apologise to Sansa, she will be gracious and accept the apology publicly, there will be a paparazzi shot of them having coffee and acting like old friends.” She said eventually.

He chuckled. He couldn’t help it. He was starting to think that his sister was losing touch with reality.

“It’s sensible, it would be good for Sansa too: forgiving just like the queen she plays in the movie. It would be good publicity.”

His phone vibrated, and there it was: Daenerys had just uploaded the bloopers of the video they had made on her own Instagram account. Sansa had already liked the post.

“Have your people contact Sansa’s,” He said.

He saw that she was checking her phone as well.

“You can’t win this war, Tyrion.” She said after a moment.

“Perhaps, but I don’t have as much to lose either, do I?” He said. He was bluffing, and he truly didn’t want to fight a war with his sister; it could not end well.

“Have Joffrey apologise – I will try and calm things down here, that’s all I can offer.” He added, and as olive branches went it was a rubbish one, but it was the best he could do.

“About Varys –“ Cersei said.

“He is his own man, sister. He made a choice.” He interrupted her.

“What have you got on him?” She asked.

“Believe it or not, nothing. I told you, he made a choice.”

That wasn’t over. He would have to keep his eyes and ears open. She would bid her time, but he knew his sister, she would unleash everything she had got against him.

“One last thing,” He said, “think carefully about your next moves, sister. I truly don’t need Varys to bury your son.”

She blinked her eyes when he opened a drawer of his desk and showed her a pen drive.

She didn’t talk, her eyes were hard as steel. She was used to dealing with the scum of the Earth, she was used to facing threats and annihilate them.

She wasn’t used to getting that from him, not his freak brother, who should have died in childbirth, who shouldn’t even be born, to begin with.

And the thing was – that he had tried to appeal to her rationality, he had tried to appeal to the mother and the businesswoman.

He had failed – and he blamed himself for that, and he wasn’t one for blame, usually.

“But I am sure it won’t have to come to that.” He said, “I will make a few phone calls, Chazelle and Scott can go and sod themselves.”

He was lying and they both knew that. Joffrey’s career had been slowly decaying for a few years; perhaps if he was really lucky he would get a villain role in some American movie.

Cersei, however, nodded. That was a game they had been playing for most of their adult lives when forced to work with each other.

“Why is Jaime coming to Belfast?” She asked, almost as an afterthought.

Bloody hell, she was good! Varys, Joffrey – they had been an excuse, or she had killed a few birds with one stone. That, however, was the real reason for her text.

“He’s my brother too.” He replied.

That had been petty of him, but there was only one person who could make Cersei see some kind of reason and it was their brother. Besides, he missed him and the man was in dire need of a vacation.

She twitched her lips in disgust, “Fine. I’ll send you the draft of Joffrey’s statement as soon as I have it.”

All business. Perfect, as usual – but he had hurt her and she wouldn’t forget it.

Neither would he.

 

* * *

 

 

**_From Instagram_ ** _:_

**_therealdanystormborn:_ ** _hello, folks! Seeing as the little video posted by my good friend @ **JorahMormontOfficial** has been a hit, here’s a little behind the scenes one. We had a blast! Funniest group of people I’ve ever worked with! #teamGQA #IStandWithSansa #GoodQueenAlysanne #jongetonsocialmediadammit #ievenconvincedJorah **@SansaStarkOfficial @DaarioNaarisOfficial @TyrionLannisterOfficial @officialGoodQueenAlysanne**_

****

**_JorahMormontOfficial_ ** _:   @therealdanystormborn darling Mrs M-_ _,_ _you did not convince me to join Instagram, don’t spread rumours! #yesshedid #GoodQueenAlysanne_

**_therealdanystormborn: @JorahMormontOfficial_ ** _captain Gregg, I remember pestering you in that little corner of the soundstage, while on break, until you gave in. #heknowsIdid #ah #whatwetrulydoduringrehearsal #GoodQueenAlysanne_

**_JorahMormontOfficial: @therealdanystormborn_ ** _it wasn’t pestering, you were adorably insistent._

**_therealdanystormborn: @JorahMormontOfficial_ ** _“adorably insistent” ? That’s it, rehearsals have officially fried our brains! #canIkeephimtho #therehearsalsarekillingusforreal #jonsnowismakingaveryambitiouspornmovie_

**_JorahMormontOfficial: @therealdanystormborn:_ ** _#jonsnowismakingaveryambitiouspornmovie Darling Mrs M, Kahleesi, Anne, Dany:  you owe me a new keyboard. I shall never, ever read your posts and drink tea at the same time again_ _:-)_ _. #sheistellingthetruthaboutrehearsal #butImsoproudofusall  #GoodQueenAlysanne_

* * *

 

**From Tumblr:**

**mrandmrsMuir:**

_That moment where your dash is all Dany/Jorah all the time._

_What a time to be alive_!!

_Dany/Jorah looking hot af while ridiculing J0ffr£y B@rath &0n in t_ _he_ _awesomeness that was that video? **Check**!_

_Dany/Jorah holding hands while going on rehearsal – and I can’t believe it took me reading Melisandre’s column to get that! **Check**!_

_Dany/Jorah flirting non-stop on Instagram for days? **Check**!_

_#canIkeephimtho – check. Check and fucking check. I died, guys. I really did!_

_The bloopers? Did you hear Jorah’s laughter in the background whi_ _le_ _Dany was laughing? Please tell me I’m not the only one!_

_Dany looks radiant! She looks so happy and so does Jorah. Now, seriously, I don’t know what’s going on between them, but it’s so good to see them like that. They deserve it!_

_I’m not saying that they’re together, ~~but they’re totally together.~~_

_Also, yes, I am aware of the reason why they made that video, it sucks that they even had to, but they’re doing this in public. They want us to see this stuff!_

_Waiting for someone to tell me that it’s just a publicity stunt or whatever. I don’t care!_

_Ps: remind me to tell you how and when I fell down the rabbit hole, I realised I never did!_

_OTP: can I keep him, dany x jorah, Good Queen Alysanne_

 

 24.500 notes.

 

* * *

 

 

**Rehearsal Day 9**

“You’re an evil, _evil_ woman!” He said between chuckles.

Daenerys Stormborn: excellent actress, mother of an adorable toddler, breaker of the internet extraordinaire.

Also, he was starting to suspect that she was the love of his life, but years spent trying not to think too deeply about what he felt for the woman currently in his arms had taken their toll on him. Or, he was a tosser who could not believe his luck. He wasn’t truly picky.

He couldn’t stop smiling, however. It was hard to stop doing that, lately.

He was smiling because he was _dating_ an amazing woman who put up with his insecurities, who had spent one day teaching him how to use Instagram and hashtags, so that he wouldn’t look like an idiot when he posted the video and if they had managed to sneak out some kisses in between, after making sure no one watched them, well – that had been _nice._

He was smiling because wooing Daenerys Stormbon was _surreal_ and, in the end, they were meeting in the middle because Dany must have realised that _he_ hadn’t been wooed for a very long time.

So, he had managed to cook dinner for her, on their second date, in her hotel room, because going outside with paparazzi still hounding them was out of the question, but she had picked the music and the wine and it had been his favourite.

They were also falling asleep together most nights, either on his sofa or hers, and they woke up in a tangle of limbs, hours later, and it was getting harder and harder to say goodbye to her.

He was smiling because rehearsals were almost over – Thank the Lord! – and except for the day where Jon had an existential crisis in the middle of rehearsing a pivotal scene in the movie, or as Dany had later told Tyrion: “He lost his shit, but in a very romantic way!”, they had worked really well and he was actually looking forward to starting the actual shooting of the movie.

They had a very tough scene to rehearse the following day, it was their last scene and it was all about Professor Reid and Anne and how the events of the movie had pushed them together and tore them apart, personally.

Yet, they hadn’t even touched their scripts that night, they had been too busy making out like teenagers and flirting on social media and if anyone had ever told him that he would ever do something like that he would have scoffed in disbelief.

There were things they should say – things he wanted to ask her: like why she had volunteered to be the one hiring Varys, even if she was the one who had more to lose.

When he had broached the subject, that night, she had shaken her head: “No. Not now” She had said.

It was only fair, he had decided. He had asked her for more time, and she was doing the same.

Her commentary on people’s answers on their posts on Instagram had him chuckling again, but he could not stop looking at her: he had told her that sometimes when he looked at her, he still couldn’t believe she was real, and he had meant every word.

He still couldn’t believe that she was there, in his room, that after she bid goodnight to her son, she seemed happy to be with him.

She could have so much more, and yet, she was choosing him, every day.

“I’m going to miss you this weekend.” She said, finally putting her smartphone away and inching closer to him on the sofa.

It was becoming familiar to have her in his arms, but he didn’t think he would never truly get used to it.

They were having a two days break before they started to shoot the movie. Costume fittings had been done while they rehearsed and those who still need adjustments were staying behind in Belfast. Daario and he were among the lucky ones who would remain there and hold the fort.

“Me too,” He replied. It was the truth – he had been alone (and so bloody lonely) for years and he didn’t particularly like the idea of being apart from Dany. He also realised how co-dependent it made him sound, but he was too tired to care.

“Next time, if you want, you could come with me?” She said, and it came out as a question.

Did he want to meet Dany’s son? Of course, he did.

There were still things they need to talk about, things he needed to tell her, things he felt she wanted to share with him.

They had time, however.

“Dany,” He said after a moment…but trailed.

 

_I love you. I’ve been in love with you for so long._

_Please, be careful._

She was looking at her, and he was _humbled_ by the trust and the love he could see in her eyes.

“You know that you don’t owe me anything, right?” He said, finally. It was not what he had meant to say and he knew that it wasn’t what she wanted to hear because there were things that she wasn’t ready to talk about.

“It’s not about owing you anything.” She said, after a moment, “even if I do,” When he tried to contradict her, she placed a hand on his chest.

“I do.” She repeated, “people don’t know what you have sacrificed for _me._ It took me years to learn the truth, and I still don’t know everything. But it’s not about that!”

She smiled, and she said, “I think I’ve been in love with you for years, Drogo knew it and I think even Lynesse did, or Varys wouldn’t have done what he did.”

He doubted Lynesse cared one way or another that he had fallen in love with his co-star, she had been too busy spending his money with her lovers, but Varys had known.

And, apparently, so had Drogo.

“The thing is,” Dany continued, “I’m doing this for us. Because I’m sick and tired of hiding and pretending and dancing like a puppet to what men like Varys or people like the Lannisters decide we should do. I’m using _them_ for a change!”

Did Dany just tell him that she loved him? Was she fighting that war for him?

And they knew each other so well, or he must look like an incredulous sod because she rolled her eyes and said, “Yes. You heard me well: I’ve been in love with you for a very long time – and I’m doing this for us. Also, I like Sansa and even Jon when he’s not a stroppy bastard!”

He wanted to tell her that he loved her – he had for a long time too, but he didn’t, she didn’t let him talk; she kissed him, hungrily, chuckling when he let out a very undignified sound when she tickled his sides.

“Stay with me –“ She asked between kisses.

“Always.” He replied.

 “I can live with that,” She replied, moments, later against his chest.

He closed his eyes; he _was_ the luckiest sod alive, and he would protect what they were building with everything he was.

 

* * *

 

**From Instagram: transcription of a story posted by Daenerys Stormborn:**

_She is without makeup, she is wearing a hat and a scarf. She is in the passenger seat of a car – it’s clear that there is someone else sitting next to her._

_DS: Good morning everyone! It’s six and –_

_She turns to her right, Jorah Mormont in the background says, “Twenty five”_

_DS: - still smiling – it’s six and oh my God in the morning, it’s still dark outside as you can see, we’re heading to rehearsals. It’s our last day!_

_She looks at her right again, and a second later a script of Good Queen Alysanne, hold by Jorah’s hand, appears next to her face._

_DS: - grins – We have a couple of hard scenes to rehearse today, wish us luck!_

* * *

 

 

**Last Day of Rehearsals  -  Jon**

Rehearsals had been hard. He hadn’t lied to Tormund when he had told him that the material demanded longer rehearsals. It did. His vision of the movie was made of a series of technical nightmares that would have to stay strictly within their budget.

They had wrapped rehearsals at a decent hour, which had been sort of surprising considering the hours they’d been having for the past week, and he would have loved to drag his sorry arse to bed and pass out, remember what it felt like to have a full night sleep.

Of course, Tyrion Lannister had come up with the idea of celebrating the end of rehearsals, or as he called it: “Snow's boot camp for actors and the crew”.

Tyrion loved parties and he loved to celebrate; he was a good man, he looked as tired as all of them, he was loved by the cast and the crew, so when he had said, “We deserve to have some fun after the past week!” no one had truly objected.

It turned out that it was a decidedly smaller affair than the party at the pub in London, and Bronn had discreetly instructed each and every attendee not to use the studios’ cars and had given them the precise location.

Yes, they were paranoid sods – but he couldn’t really blame them for erring on the side of caution.

The party was held in an elegant loft, and it soon turned out that it belonged to Tyrion.

“No loose lips, nothing that will come up on social media unless Dany decides to break the internet again!” Tyrion had explained.

People had laughed at that because Daenerys, who had a huge following on social media, had been steadily turning the tide against Joffrey Baratheon and all the naysayers about Sansa, first by chiming in with ideas about the bloody video and then by posting pictures and stories on either Twitter and Instagram. People were seeing a close-knit group of people working their arses off all day to make a good movie.

He had been looking at his cast and crew for a while, and he realised that Tyrion was right: they deserved to celebrate and relax after the week they had had!

Didn’t paparazzi get bored? How many shots could they have of the cast and crew either getting in or out the soundstage, looking like robots and dressed always the same?

Apparently, they didn’t, and since there weren’t any new scandals, they were still hounded.

It was sad that it had become routine for all of them.

And yes, the rational part of him, the one that had not forgotten where he came from and his childhood and still remembered how things worked in real life, knew that they were lucky because being hounded by paparazzi might be a pain in the arse, but it was not working 10 hours a day at minimum wage or feeling like a fucking Dickens’ character from time to time.

And yet –

And yet it _had_ been a long, hard week for all of them and having arseholes saying nasty, vile things to him and to his cast had been exhausting.

He hadn’t lost it again, in front of cameras, it didn’t matter what those leeches said. Both Oberyn and Tyrion had told him to keep it together, and he had. Mostly.

One day, however, he hoped he would be as good at dealing with those leeches as Jorah Mormont, whose face never, ever betrayed what he felt in front of cameras; even if he had seen, with his own eyes, how the man’s hand had shaken with fury and frustration that morning, when an arsehole had asked him whether it was true that Rhaego, Dany’s son, was their lovechild and if he liked to watch while _he_ had threesomes with Dany and Sansa.

They had managed to keep it together, he had done his job and he had not avoided Sansa; she was his leading lady, and it wasn’t her problem if he had feelings for her; Sansa had a very demanding role, people attacking her left and right, therefore he would be there for her – even if he was starting to think that it would drive him to distraction.

There weren’t paparazzi anywhere, they hadn’t been followed and Tyrion had only invited people they could trust – those he was sure they wouldn’t sell them out or report everything they said or did to Cersei or on social media.

Perhaps they were indeed paranoid – but he couldn’t muster enough fucks to care at that point.

Besides, he liked those people, and he was surprised by how close they had all got after such a short amount of time. Shooting a movie had that effect, usually: people got used to forming strong bonds in short amounts of time and it was a bit schizophrenic, but in that case, he felt that things were different. People genuinely cared about the movie and about each other, and they were lucky to have that.

Some of the crew and cast had already worked together, but others had only met for the first time when production began. He was aware that they had hit the jackpot: his cast had amazing chemistry together, his crew was immensely talented and they were all, for the most part, decent people.

He heard them chatting and discussing plans for the weekend: some of them would go home and he couldn’t help smiling when he heard Brienne say, “I will murder anyone who dares me to call before noon tomorrow! I need some fucking sleep!”

God, but he could relate! Brienne, however, was staying in Belfast: they had about a million meetings to attend before shooting began.

Daario was chatting with some crew members – despite his initial scepticism about his casting, he had to admit the actor had done an impressive work with some of his scenes and Sansa and he had been working a lot on building their chemistry from scratch.

Sansa was – stunning. She was wearing a dark-blue dress, her auburn hair was loose on her shoulders and – bloody hell! He couldn’t stop gazing at her! She was smiling, while talking to Tyrion and Bronn, she looked tired, but at ease.

He forgot, sometimes, that Sansa had met Tyrion before her screen test; and he wondered, not for the first time, what he might have seen or heard while she had been engaged to Baratheon.

He would never ask him, of course – but he couldn’t help wondering whether it had been Tyrion who had sent the pages for the screen test to Sansa’s agent.

He heard Tyrion asking, “Did Cersei’s people contact yours?”

“Oh, yes. They’re still laughing.” Sansa replied, “Jaqen H'ghar’s exact words were: ‘over my dead body’.”

 He was the director of the movie, but he had the distinct feeling that he was being left out from a lot of stuff. He intended to talk to Tyrion during the weekend; he didn’t know what the hell was going on, but he was tired of feeling like he was always missing something.

Sansa seemed to sense that he was staring at her – big, bloody surprise, there – because she turned and looked at him, smiling.

They locked gazes for a moment, and it felt like a scene he would _never_ direct because his life had never been a rom-com and he didn’t believe in fairy tales, but that feeling, the almost physical sensation that they were the only people in the room and she was the only thing clearly visible in a monochrome world, was nonetheless there and it was impossible to ignore.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t try.

He broke eye contact between them and moved in the room, spotting finally Davos, Jorah, Dany and Baeric chatting; as he got closer he heard them discussing Oberyn Martell’s latest idea: a photo shoot of the cast and crew.

He had dropped the news that morning, during a break saying, “Since people on social media are stanning you AF right now, we’ve got to ride the wave.”

He still didn’t know what the hell he had meant, but it was clear that his crew had very precise ideas about it.

Davos was saying, “There is no way in hell I’m going to do that!”

They all nodded their greetings when he joined them and he listened as Baeric teased the older man; Dany, who was sitting on a sofa next to Jorah, reminded him about the video they had all made and Davos scoffed, “That was your brilliant idea, Stormborn!”

She shrugged her shoulders and Jon noticed that Jorah’s arm was drooped around her shoulders.

It was a casual gesture – much as Dany’s hand on Jorah’s knee. Casual, familiar – _intimate._

He remembered seeing them on stage, in New York, how he had been transfixed by their stage presence and, later, when they had started working together, he had, of course, noticed the chemistry between them – how they had worked so seamlessly together, making the relationship between their characters a complex one, more than a foil to Alysanne and Jhaerys’.

But – _that_ was not flirting on Instagram while on break during rehearsals, or posing for pictures that were first vetted by Martell before they were uploaded anywhere.

God – critics and fellow directors lauded him for his attention to details!

He had been so wrapped up in his work and his feelings for Sansa that he had missed the obvious!

Daenerys Stormborn whom he often saw having whispered conversations with Tyrion while at work, Jorah Mormont whom always listened to his input, almost as if he wasn’t a veteran actor with decades of experience, Davos Seaworth whom he considered his mentor (and also the closest thing he had to a father, since his own had buggered off when he was a child) and Baeric Dandarion, his first assistant director, all looked at him in silence for a moment, while realisation finally hit him like a ton of bricks!

If Tormund was there, he would tell him plainly how much of a moron he was, instead they all followed his gaze, and after the past few weeks, they had gotten quite good at reading one another.

“So,” He said eventually, “are you two…?” He trailed.

And Davos Seaworth, Bafta and Oscar winner, actually facepalmed at his words.

He couldn’t even chalk it up to being drunk: he had been nursing _one_ beer that night.

Dany and Jorah inched even closer to each other and he felt a bit stupid. No – he felt _very_ stupid!

“Good!” He said, hoping he would sound smooth, but not exactly holding his breath over it.

He was saved by further embarrassment (and he wasn’t even going to broach the subject that they’d need to keep things professional on set since he had not even realised that his actors were dating until that moment!) when Sansa, Tyrion and Bronn joined them.

“What did I miss?” Tyrion asked.

“We were just talking about the bloody photoshoot!” Davos replied. He truly loved that man, Jon decided.

Tyrion shrugged, “Might be fun. Martell knows what he is doing.”

Sansa didn’t comment and John knew she wouldn’t say a word about it, she would be a trooper. She was one of the least demanding actresses he had ever worked with.

Dany asked Sansa whether she had already picked up the dress she would wear on her _hot_ date.

He was a simple man – and he had also recently realised that when it came to Sansa Stark he was a possessive idiot!

He didn’t speak, of course, he had put his foot in his mouth enough for one night, but he felt his blood boil.

Luckily, it was Tyrion who spoke; he handed Sansa a glass of champagne; there was a moment where they looked at each other and he saw some sort of a silent conversation going on between them and, eventually, Sansa nodded and accepted the champagne.

“Oh, a hot date! Do tell!” Tyrion said, grinning.

He wanted to know – but he also wanted to smash things. So, he settled for drinking his beer.

“Oh, mum’s film premieres tomorrow. We are _all_ going!”

“Isn’t Ned in New Zealand?” Davos asked.

Sansa nodded, but said, “Dad never misses mum’s premieres if she decides to attend them.”

He had gotten quite good at reading Sansa, or so he hoped; she was an extremely expressive actress but was very guarded in her private life, so much that it was hard, sometimes, to get a good reading of her. However, there were tells, and he thought he could spot them, usually.

She sounded wistful and embarrassed at the same time, there was something in what she had told that was making her uncomfortable.

She was saying the truth – because he could usually say when she fibbed, but she was also withholding some information.

“So,” Dany asked, “did you pick up the dress? Are you going for virginal or slutty?”

She was smiling, but he was aware that she had not stopped looking at him as she good-naturedly teased her co-star.

“You’ll see!” Sansa replied with a wink.

Goddamn, that woman was going to be his undoing!

Tyrion took pity on him and he changed the subject. They didn’t talk about the movie – and he relaxed while listening to his cast, his _friends_ making small talk, swapping past set experiences and when Brienne and Daario joined them, he realised that he was standing right next to Sansa (how – and when did it happen?) and it felt a bit like before Baratheon was a little shit on Twitter – except that he was very much aware now of his feelings for Sansa, he had stopped lying to himself.

Jorah had all of them in stitches when he told them about some of the adventures Ned Stark and him had together through the years: first when they were at RADA and then when they worked together.

Sansa chimed in saying, “I came on set with Robb and mum one day, you were doing that period piece…”

“Which one? I’ve done a million of them!” Jorah replied with a smirk.

“No capes this time around,” Tyrion chimed in,

“And no bloody armour!” Jorah said, nodding his head. He looked at Daario and grinned, “Sorry, mate!”

“I hate you!” Daario replied good-naturedly.

They all laughed, then Sansa said, “It was my first time on a set, you were shooting the scene where you died.”

Jorah smiled, “I remember that! You couldn’t stop crying, after, but you held it together until the director said cut!”

He was endeared by the tale – and also _very_ fucked – but he was also happy that Jorah seemed genuinely fond of Sansa, despite the well known falling out between Ned Stark and him.

Dany added that she too remembered that movie and how she cried her eyes out when Jorah’s character died.

“You never told me that,” Jorah said looking at her.

And yes, he was totally clueless – how could he miss the way they looked at each other? That man was totally besotted with the woman sitting next to him. And she was so clearly in love with him!

The director in him was suggesting to him all the ways in which he could exploit that knowledge, and he tried very hard to squelch that voice.

He also missed Dany’s reply – and when he focused back on his cast Dany and Sansa were laughing together and he couldn’t help noticing that they were scarily in synch and were unconsciously mirroring each other’s gestures – God, they truly had been spending too much time together.

He exchanged a look with Jorah, who was smiling – and yes, he was irrevocably, utterly _fucked._

Someone brought them a few guitars – how, why or when Tyrion Lannister would even have guitars in one of his spare houses was something he truly didn’t want to know, he didn’t even know what had prompted the whole thing, it must have happened while he was thinking about how to use Dany and Jorah’s chemistry in the movie – and it turned out that Jorah, Baeric and Bronn were quite good at playing the guitar and they all ended up singing, and Jon truly felt like the other shoe _had_ to drop at that point! It had to because they were too relaxed, they were enjoying the others’ company too much so, he was positive that they would get a phone call from Oberyn Martell telling them that Joffrey Baratheon had leaked some nude pictures of Sansa’s (in which case he would personally bash the little prick’s head in), or someone from the studios would call them to tell them they were backing out from financing the movie or some other catastrophe would happen.

But, except for Dany taking videos and pictures for posterity, nothing happened.

Well – something _did_ happen: Sansa and Dany started to sing a John Legend’s song a cappella; it was not perfect and both women were tipsy and giggled while singing, but he was absurdly glad when he noticed that Bronn was filming the whole thing and he chocked on his beer when Tyrion whispered, “I’ll send you the video later.”

Tyrion grinned at him; he was a weird man: he had chosen him to direct the story he had always wanted to tell and he was trusting his vision; he claimed he was a cynical man, but he had seen him using his clout and power to give a chance (on more fronts, it appeared) to two actors he had worked with in the past; he was fiercely protective of the cast and crew and even of him.

He was aware that there had been meetings with the executives that, as the director of the movie, he should have attended, but Lannister had chosen to protect him because he might be a relative newcomer, but he was familiar with the concept of plausible deniability.

When he looked at Tyrion, he saw a man who put everything he had and was in his job and was bloody lonely.

He could relate, to be honest.

Tyrion was now chatting with Baeric and Davos and he chose not to listen to what they were saying; he focused on Sansa who was still next to him, and he hated the tension he could feel in her because before Baratheon had unleashed paparazzi on them they had always chatted easily, and the silences between them had never been awkward.

He should have made things easier for Sansa; he should have cleared the air between them right away so that they wouldn’t always be on alert when they were together and in public, like they were now. They were behaving as if they had done something wrong; as if Joffrey Baratheon was right!

He wasn’t!

Sansa would have got the part even if he hadn’t been attracted to her from her audition.

They would be spending months together and he could not let Joffrey Baratheon ruin his relationship with his leading actress! They had a responsibility toward the rest of the cast and crew!

Anyway, that was his story and he would be sticking to it until his dying breath, especially when Daario, who had rented a flat not far from where Sansa and Theon Greyjoy were staying offered to drive her home; he couldn’t help it: he said that there was no need.

“I’m driving you home.” He said.

“You are?” Daario asked.

Now, he liked Daario just fine; he was an easy-going person, the crew adored him and so did his castmates; he had nothing against him, truly! The fact was that he was spending too much time with Sansa already – and it didn’t matter that it was just pretending, he didn’t like it.

“If she wants to, yes I am.” He said using his best, “I’m your director you don’t want to fuck with me!” voice.

He was oblivious of the way his cast – his _friends_ exchanged glances at his words; he saw Bronn gulping his drink, and he was pretty sure he was trying to hide a smirk.

He had already shown his hand twice, one more wouldn’t kill him.

He was looking at Sansa, and he saw the way she got past her initial surprise, before she said, “I’ll get my coat.”

 

_Smooth, Snow. Very smooth!_

 

What the hell was he doing?

 

* * *

**Last Day of Rehearsals  - Sansa**

 

She hadn’t been alone in a car with a man since Joffrey – and it was one of the reasons why she didn’t drive any longer. The last time she had driven in a car Joffrey had been with her and it had been _unpleasant._ She still had faint scars on her collarbone to remind her just how bad it had been. To that day, she still panicked whenever she thought about it, that was why Bronn had driven her to Tyrion’s flat and Jon was driving her home.

Jon, however, was not Joffrey. She forced herself not to inch closer to the door, she willed her body to relax.

Jon was _not_ Joffrey.

Jon was kind, he was patient – he listened to her questions about his stage directions and answered them. He was sweet – there wasn’t a malicious bone in his body; she had seen how he had looked genuinely surprised that night by how close the cast and crew had got, and it was mostly thanks to him.

She had observed him all night – listening to his cast, laughing with Tyrion or Dany, and she was _not_ completely blind: she had felt the way he had looked at her and it didn’t make sense because Jon had been kind, polite, even sweet to her ever since the whole clusterfuck with Joffrey had gone down, but he wasn’t attracted to her. It couldn’t be!

Jon Snow liked women like Ygritte Wildings: free, outspoken, without baggage, without scars.

Jon Snow was a decent man, a good person who had dealt with more filth in the past week than in his whole career thanks to her ex-fiancé.

Yet, she had eyes – and she had learned the hard way to pay attention to the way men looked at her.

Even if she felt, deep in her gut, that Jon would never hurt her.

They hadn’t said a word when they had left; it was a cold night and it was raining. He had asked her address when they had got into the car and nothing else, which had been completely fine with her because she – liked watching Jon: he made her feel safe, and that was a feeling she had genuinely thought she would never feel again. She hadn’t felt safe for a long time, not even with her family.

She wondered whether she should say something, however – he had publicly defended her, but they had not talked about what had happened, yet. She had tried to broach the subject more than once, but after he left the soundstage the night he had shown Daario how he wanted the dance scene to be done, her resolve had faltered because the man who had come back, had been polite, sweet, kind – but also distant.

She wouldn’t even know where to start if she were to broach the subject of Joffrey’s tweets again. They had not slept together and even if Jon was attracted to her – it was clear that she wasn’t worth the trouble for him and she couldn’t honestly blame him for that.  

Yet, she felt like she owed Jon some kind of apology because he was being harassed because of her.

“Jon,” She said, clearing her throat before she spoke, “listen – we haven’t talked this week –“

They had avoided each and any personal matter. Jon had sat stone-faced during the meeting with Martell, he had not objected to Tyrion’s idea of shooting a video mocking Joffrey’s tweets, or Dany’s when she had chimed in suggesting that the whole cast and crew should be part of it.

That was the problem – Jon did _not_ say a word. She had no idea about what he was thinking, whether he was sick and bloody tired of that mess and was regretting choosing her or whether he was okay.

“I need to apologise.” She said.

Her father had taught his children to be brave and always face their fuck ups. She knew that it wasn’t her fault that Joffrey Baratheon was a psychopath. Her mind knew that; her heart, however would always find ways to blame her for being such a stupid, naïve girl.  

Jon tilted his head on her side for a moment and he could see the hard look in his eyes even in the half-darkness of the car.

“No, you don’t.” He said. And she knew that tone of voice – it was the one he used when he was cross but he was too bloody polite and considerate of her to say it aloud.

“Yes, I do. It’s my fault, all of this.” She said. 

It was – regardless of what Theon, Robb, Maergery, Dany, Tyrion and her parents said. It was her fault because she had fallen in love with a monster and he would never stop trying and destroying her.

It was her fault because she had forgotten the basic rules she had learnt while growing up – and she had been just a girl who had a crush on a kind man, and if that crush had become something more, well – that wasn’t Jon’s problem. It was her own, and she would have to deal with it.

“No – it’s Baratheon’s fault. You have _nothing_ to apologise for, not to me or anyone!” He said and he sounded almost angry.

They stopped at a red light, and Jon turned toward her and said, “I mean it, Sansa – none of what Baratheon did or say is your fault!”

He sounded so sure, so earnest – and she wanted so badly to tell him why it was her fault! She wanted to tell him that she had been so young and naive, but that wasn't an excuse because she should have dumped Joffrey, run and never look back the first time he had shown her his true colours before he started to see her as his property.

 

_More valuable than my sport bag, but far less than my car._

She did not dump him, she didn't run away and that was her fault.

She should have been stronger and report him to the police regardless of what Jaime Lannister had told her to dissuade her. She had to live with the fact that Joffrey was probably hurting some other girl because she had been weak.

She wanted to tell Jon that she was afraid. She couldn't even drive a fucking car without having a panic attack because the last time she did Joffrey had been there and things had become unpleasant.

The tweets and being hounded by paparazzi were a small price to pay if it was the only thing Joffrey stuck to. He could do and had done much worse to her.

She couldn't burden Jon with her mistakes, however. It wasn't fair.

 "Let me thank you, then." She said, focusing on Jon's hands on the steering wheel. He had strong calloused hands, bit she was sure that he had never laid a finger on a woman;  and yes, she was very much aware of how appearances could be deceiving, but it was a feeling that she couldn't shake...and it almost brought her to tears.

Almost.

She was Sansa Stark and they had been taught not show weakness in public, and she had learnt the hard way never to lower her guard, not even with the people closest to her. Especially with them.

They had almost arrived, Jon slowed the car to a halt, and then turned toward her and said, “Don’t. Please.”

Why? He had trusted her, given her the chance of a lifetime and she had caused nothing but troubles.

 And she must have drunk more than she thought because she voiced some of those thoughts aloud.

Jon shook his head, “Who made you think that you are nothing less but amazing?” He whispered.

“Why are you avoiding me, then?” She asked – because that was what she had wanted to say all along; and she felt – vulnerable, exposed, and she couldn’t bring herself to care. Even the constant fear she felt in the pit of her stomach seemed far away in that moment.

 “I mean –“ She trailed, realizing that they were facing each other and he was so bloody close and even if they had spent virtually every waking hour together for the past few days, they had never been alone and she had missed him.

“Sansa –“ He said, and his voice sounded _broken._

She had drunk too much, which was something she didn’t usually do, especially after Joffrey; she was tired, she would have to attend a premiere with her family because of those bloody tweets, she was under constant scrutiny: what she wore, how she looked, what she said and didn’t say – people felt entitled to insult her, she was being called a whore, a slut and the only person whose opinion truly mattered to her sounded _pained_ when saying her name.

 She should open the door, get out of the car and leave; Jon would never mention what she had said, and she was sure they would have a civil working relationship – they both loved the movie too much, it was too important for too many people to fuck it up with their personal problems.

She should go – move, go to her room, rip her clothes off and stand under the shower spray until she could think clearly.

She really should.

She didn’t. Jon had just said her name, and the way he had said, had finally brought tears to her eyes.

She moved, even though she had never been bold in her life – and closed the distance between them. It didn’t take much because somehow their bodies always seemed to gravitate toward each other.

He was startled when she brushed his lips with hers. She had drunk champagne and beer, she hadn’t eaten all day and she felt lightheaded. He tasted like beer and mint, and his lips were soft.

God – she thought she had known what desire was, but she had been clueless!

Jon opened his lips and kissed her and she closed her eyes.

Yes.

Soft, warm, slow. Jon was still not touching her, and her skin ached, felt too tight; they moved, in that small car and when he cupped her face, she bit his lower lip, trying not to moan.

She had never been kissed like that – like she was being touched by fire and honey.

Her hands dug into his hair and he was the one who let out a soft moan.

Yes. Warm, languid, hungry – heat was pooling between her legs and she was dimly surprised about that. She was surprised by how much she _craved_ the man who was kissing her.

They broke the kiss, for a moment, and Jon started to scatter butterfly kisses on her jaw and the side of her neck while one hand was in her hair and the other was still cupping the side of her face.

 Was it always supposed to be like that? Like she was going on fire and he was the only thing that could make it better?

Her hands trailed, roaming his back, feeling the strong muscles even through the fabric of his coat and shirt.

Clothes. Too many clothes – she needed to feel his skin, she needed to taste it, so she did, moving, inching his head closer to hers, so that she could kiss his face, taste the soft skin with the tip of her tongue and held her breath when Jon’s hand trailed down from her face, tracing her neck with his fingertips – could he feel how fast her heart was beating? She could feel his taste on her lips and her heart in her throat and she wanted _more._

He did too; she could tell from the way he kissed her again, while his hand stopped on her chest and traced her nipples through the fabric of her dress.

Fuck.

They moved, again, almost imperceptibly and their chests were pressed flush against eaotherr’s.

Her hands slipped under his coat and she needed to touch his skin: it was so warm, so soft and it felt so good, so right.

They breathed together, taking gulps of air, locking gazes, for a moment and he was solemn even now, while the hand that had cupped her breast was trailing down. He kissed her lips, once twice, and she did the same, when his hand brushed her leg.

Her core throbbed, and maybe he felt it  because his hand trailed up.

Warm – hot, too hot.

She was wearing stockings and the feeling of his warm hand between her legs sent jolts of pleasures throughout her body.

She closed her eyes, not even caring, at first about the sounds she was making.

Damn, he was good – he was so good at it. He was taking his time, teasing her through her knickers.

 

_“Spread your legs –“ He hissed against her jaw._

_The tears in her eyes were making everything blurry. “Joffrey,” She pleaded._

_“Now.” He said._

His kisses were sloppier now, his beard was tickling her face and his fingers were slipping through her folds.

Her breath itched.

“ _Oh –“_ He said.

 

_Harsh. Dry. Hurt._

_She wanted to clench her legs but she couldn’t move a muscle._

_“It’s either me or my friends._ _I made a bet, I lost and Lannisters always paid their debts. What is gonna be, Sansa?”_

_“You.” She cried. Why couldn’t she move? Why couldn’t she fight?_

_“_ _Fuck yourself on my fingers, then.”_

_She heard the chuckles, but couldn’t see who was laughing, didn’t even want to._

She was coming – but she couldn’t let him touch her. Fire was dangerous. How could she ever think that it was a good thing? That she could have it?

“Stop – please.” She cried.

 

 

_“Shut the fuck up!” Joffrey said, his fingers pistoning in and out of her for everyone to see, “I’m making you a favour already. Don’t push it! Keep moving!”_

_She did. It hurt and her mouth tasted bitter, but she had just had one drink._

_“Add another!” Someone said._

_“Please – it hurts.” She whispered._

_Joffrey grinned._

Jon was so quick to withdraw his hand that she felt her head spinning.

He had stopped.

“Sansa –“ He said, “I’m –“

She shouldn’t have – she felt cold, she felt the phantom taste of whatever drug Joffrey had given him that night in her throat, she felt her inner walls fluttering and she was sure that she was going to throw up, especially when Jon said, “I’m so sorry! It won’t happen again, I swear!”

 _It’s not you. I’m damaged goods. I’m a fuck up. It’s not your fault!_ She wanted to say.

“I need to go – “ She said, without looking at him.

“Sansa, I’m sorry.” He repeated.

“Don’t.” She said as she got out of the car. It was pouring, her knees wobbled for a moment, because she was tipsy and she had almost come and it was a good thing that it was raining because she couldn’t hide her tears any longer.

Jon didn’t leave. He was still in the car, and while she fished for the keys in her purse he kept looking at her.

 _Leave, dammit! Leave!_ She wanted to tell him.

Ygritte Wildings wouldn’t have left him high and dry – she wouldn’t have freaked out because of her former boyfriend. She didn’t need pr strategies and she was respected and admired.

Jon could do so much better than her.

And yet, when she turned, he was still there, in the car, looking at her and she looked back.

God. She loved him – and she had just fucked everything up.


	8. And -- action!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sansa attends a premiere, the Starks are out for blood, Jon is angsting and shooting begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the huge delay in updating, real life has been hectic. Also, I don't know whether you guys prefer shorter and more frequent updates or long ass ones. Let me know!:)  
> As Always, huge thanks to all the people who left kudos, bookmarked or left the comments on the story!

**From the website Blind Gossip: The #1 Blind Item Site in The World**

 

_Blind Item: The War_

_This is almost too easy; it is the story of two families, both of them are considered Royalty in the showbusiness._

_Family A is notoriously very concerned with their privacy and they are known for discouraging their children to get into the family business until they come of age._

_Family B, on the other hand, is, shall we say, much more under the spotlight, encouraging all their family members to be in the show business._

_It is not a coincidence that despite their statuses and collective talents there haven’t been many work collaborations between the two families for decades._

_That didn’t change even during the short engagement between two offsprings of the families._

_No, this isn’t Romeo and Juliet – far from it! It has become disconcertingly clear  that there is no love lost between the former couple and  recent events have prompted Family A to close ranks around one of their own – hence, their uncharacteristic massive presence on social media and the recent outing, which saw the whole family showing up at a movie  premiere._

_The movie premiere and its afterparty were not just a showcase for one of the family members’ talent. It was a show of strength. And it succeeded._

_Sources tell me that some members of Family B are worried because Family A is starting to actively use their clout and power to protect their own and to teach them a lesson._

_People who were at the afterparty were heard whispering, “Family A is out for blood, now.”_

_Family A:_

_Family B:_

* * *

 

**_From Scoop Online:_ **

**_Sansa Stark attends her mother’s movie premiere – and she looks gorgeous!_ **

****

_Sansa Stark, along with her siblings and her father, Ned, attended the premiere of Cathelyn Tully’s latest project: “Lady Stoneheart” and they killed it on the red carpet. The Starks coordinated their dresses and suits: shades of black and white and looked glamourous, radiant and very close._

_In the exclusive pictures below you can see moments from the red carpet and the afterparty: from Cathelyn Tully wearing her husband’s jacket at the after party, to Rob and Talisa Stark looking every bit like the newlyweds they are, to Theon Greyjoy hugging his adoptive sisters, the Starks seemed in great mood._

_Sansa Stark, wearing a gorgeous Valentino gown, looked ethereal and radiant, laughing with her siblings and looking proudly at her mother._

_Sansa, who is about to start shooting “Good Queen Alysanne” this week, has been at the centre of some controversy lately, both with her casting as the titular character in the movie, and after the defamatory claims her ex fiancé Joffrey Baratheon made on twitter last week._

* * *

 

_She looks radiant._

 

Perhaps she was a better actress than she thought, because she had felt anything but radiant the previous night – she was pretty sure the make up artists had pulled out a bloody miracle with her because when they had got to her mum’s hotel room, she had been a mess: too little sleep, her eyes still puffy and bloodshot, her skin had been too pale.

She had cried herself to sleep two nights before – making sure Theon wouldn’t hear her because the very last thing she needed was her brother breaking Jon’s nose because he misunderstood and couldn’t truly know what the hell had happened between them.

Besides, she truly had not wanted to think about what had happened with Jon; as coping mechanisms went, hers was rubbish, she was aware of that, but there hadn’t been time to do anything else.

So, she had worn sunglasses on the way to the airport, the previous morning, deciding that paparazzi could go and sod themselves for once.

She had – been a trooper, her parents’ daughter up until she had seen her dad. She hadn’t seen her dad for months, but she was pretty sure that she would have reacted the same way even if they had seen each other the previous day.

They had been alone – Theon and Arya had been at Robb’s, her mom had still been doing yet another round of press junkets for her movie; her father had looked at her and he had just _known;_ and even if he had been very vocal in his disapproval when she had started dating Joffrey, there had been no accusation, no resentment in his eyes. 

Perhaps her father didn’t know the sordid details because no one truly did; but he knew enough and he still loved her, and it had undone her: she had cried in his arms, as he told her that things would be okay, that they would solve everything – and he reminded her that the lone wolf died, but the pack survived.

 As for her mum’s premiere – no, she definitely hadn’t felt radiant: it had been a bloody nightmare! She had been exhausted, scared and had felt like a bloody animal on display all evening.

Her new publicist, however, had carefully planned that public outing; Jaquen was a frankly scary man; he was attractive, but he exuded an aura of danger and power that she had found off-putting;  there was a reason, however, if his services were so expensive and he could afford the luxury to pick and choose his clients: he was the best at public appearances, he got things done quickly and seamlessly  and the producers of her mum’s movie had been only too happy to work with him – it had been free publicity for the movie, after all.

Cersei Lannister had also succeeded, apparently, in the seemingly impossible task to piss Jaquen off. She very much doubted that he cared about her on a personal level, but his answer to her ludicrous proposal had been a resonant and clear: “fuck off, this is war!”

 Her father – who was a honourable man, who had been in the business since he was a child, and hated publicity stunts with a burning passion, had smiled for the cameras and had followed the script they had all been given.

Even Arya who was much more comfortable in her fencing attire and would rather die than going to a premiere afterparty had worn a dress, high heels, had had her hair and make up  done, and she had been on her best behaviour – for her.

She couldn’t shake the feeling of shame thinking about the show her family had to make, for her – because she had been naïve and weak.

She had smiled, however, grateful for the make up and the nice dress she had been given and for the fact that her siblings and her parents had not commented on how shitty she had looked at first, not even Theon on the way to London.  

The old mantra had come back: the flashes were just bright lights, she had a script – words provided by Jaquen and no one – unless they knew her really well could tell that there was something wrong with her.

And there was – evidently, if she couldn’t even be touched by the man she was in love with without going into sheer, utter panic.

It wasn’t Jon’s fault. Jon had not known, he had _stopped_ as soon as she had spoken. He couldn’t have known, and she didn’t blame him. He was a good man, he wasn’t Joffrey!

 It wasn’t her own fault – or so she kept reminding herself; but she truly didn’t believe it because blaming herself was easier than the alternative; it was easier than facing everything Joffrey had done to her.

 

* * *

 

**From Twitter:**

**@sansaisagoddess:** OMFG, she looks like a queen! #yourfavewillnever #SansaDefenceSquad

 

 **@sansaGQA12:** it’s so good to see her smile! Is it just me or the Starks were sending a message here? #SansaDefenceSquad #alsoRobbhotdamnyoulookhotaf

 

 **@joffbratheonismyking: @sansaisagoddess** she can walk a red carpet and pose for pics like a pro. How shocking! #queen #howaboutno

 

@ **jonsnowdeservedanoscar: @joffbaratheonismyking** your obsession with Sansa is creepy, you know that, right? She dumped him #getthefuckoverit

 

@ **joffbaratheonismyking @jonsnowdeservedanoscar:** said the fan of the director she’s currently shagging #sheisusinghim #youshouldbeworriedabouthim

 

* * *

 

 

He _knew_ he looked like shit – he had eyes, and he had spent a considerable amount of time looking in the mirror trying to understand, how could he have fucked up so spectacularly! He had come up with nothing all he knew was that he had no excuses.

None.

Even if Sansa hadn’t _frozen_ as he touched her, he still had fondled her like a horny teenager in a bloody rental car!  

What was killing him was that it had taken him far too long to realise that Sansa was not okay – Christ, how could he do that?

So, yes, he was acutely aware of the bruise like shadows under his eyes, oh how bloody pale he looked, of how messy his hair was and how unkempt his beard looked, he didn’t need Brienne, Tyrion or bloody Davos to remind him!

Apparently, however, no one had got the memo, and all of them, at one point or another had commented on his looks and his attitude.

He had focused on the job – because when everything went to hell, that was the only thing that tethered him; they were ready to start shooting the movie and even paparazzi had taken a day off, thankfully!

The internet, however, never slept and he might have set up a google alert about Sansa (he must have been very drunk when he did) because as soon as he woke up, he saw the coverage about Catherine Tully’s movie premiere.

And he was in that rental car again, his senses were filled with Sansa and the guilt he felt took his breath away, because underneath the make up and the beautiful dress (neither virginal nor slutty, he wondered what Dany would think about it), beyond the smiles she had for the cameras – which he hated because only a blind idiot would not see how fake they were, he had spotted the tells: Sansa looked tired and _haunted_.

But judging by the comments he read, no one noticed!

Well, who was he to complain anyway? He didn’t notice right away what was happening to Sansa in the car – even though he had thought he had gotten good at reading her.

The only good thing that had come out from the past twenty four hours was that he had had a long chat with Tyrion the previous evening about all the things that he had been kept out of.

Tyrion had looked genuinely surprised that he had noticed the whispered conversations Dany and he had, and how often he stayed back in the production offices after they all went home.

Yes, he had been too consumed with his work, but unlike what Tyrion might think he was _not_ completely clueless.

He suspected that Tyrion still hadn’t told him everything – but he knew  for a fact now that there had been conference calls with the studios that he had not been part of,  which had been mostly about how to deal with the mess Joffrey Baratheon had made with his tweets.

Tyrion had also told him that Joffrey’s team was working on an official apology statement.

A statement. A fucking statement. Did that piece of shit and his batshit insane mother really think that a par boiled PR piece of garbage could fix things?

“Why isn’t he in jail?” He had asked.

Tyrion had cocked an eyebrow at his words. He had bypassed all the bullshit, shown his hand and gone to the facts because if Tormund had heard rumours, and he didn’t know the little prick directly, Tyrion must have known more.

Tyrion had downed his glass of wine and grimaced and, at that point, he had been positive that the man knew more than he let on.

“I don’t know all the facts.” He had replied. And he had no idea whether he had said the truth or was still covering for his nephew. He hadn’t wanted to dwell on that.

Tyrion was a good man, however – and he seemed genuinely fond of Sansa, to the point that he had gone against his own family and if half the stories he had heard about Cersei Lannister-Baratheon were true, he was in for a world of trouble.

“I saw my nephew almost choking her, once – and I saw bruises from time to time, I don’t know what happened after,” Tyrion had said, “I don’t know what made her decide to break up with him, I’m just glad that she did.”

_I saw the bruises from time to time._

And he had felt her freeze in his arms, he had seen her flinching whenever Daario or his stand in touched her and she wasn’t expecting their touch.

Fuck.  

It had been Tyrion the first to suggest him, even before he had actually spent time reading stuff on the internet rather than just looking at Sansa’s pictures, that the Starks had declared war on the Lannisters,”

It hadn’t escaped Jon that Tyrion had not included himself in the family, and then the man had continued saying, “The thing is – we’ve both been in the business for a very long time, our families, I mean. Unlike us, however, the Starks don’t burn their bridges.”

“What are you going to do?” He had asked.

Tyrion had not answered.

 

* * *

 

 

**Texts Exchanged between Jon Snow and Sansa Stark**

**Jon:** Sansa, are you all right?

 

 **Sansa:** Yes, of course. How are things going? Did you kill Baelish?

 

 **Jon:** the git will be on set tomorrow, plenty of time for that. Seriously, how are you?

 

 **Sansa:** I’m fine.

 

 **Jon:** Listen, I should apologise about the other night.

 

 **Sansa:** no need. It’s okay, really.

 

 **Jon:** it’s not. I was… I don’t know what came over me. I have no excuses. I’m so sorry!

 

 **Sansa:** would you stop doing that? I already told you: do not apologise. You did nothing wrong.

 

* * *

 

 

“The hell I didn’t!” Jon exclaimed looking at the last text Sansa sent him.

 He should have texted her sooner – hell, he should have phoned her, rather than waiting and driving himself almost to distraction with guilt and self-loathing.

He had vague recollections about his father and none of them were good, he knew that he himself was not a saint, not even close –   he had plenty of flaws, but he was not _that_ sort of individual. He could be a selfish git, he could get so obsessed with his job that he forgot anything and anyone else; he had lost the only woman he had been in love with – and while the official reason was that the job had taken precedence over anything else, he had wondered whether the issue ran deeper. He was not perfect – but he was not _that_ sort of man – like Joffrey. The idea of purposefully hurting a woman made him sick.

He could – still catch a plane to London, he had no idea where Sansa was staying, but if push came to shove, he could text Theon Greyjoy. It was crazy, he was aware of that, but he was functioning on very little sleep, too much coffee and guilt and why didn’t he step out of the car and try and talk to her the other night?  

He had seen her, he had seen how much she was shaking, he had seen how not okay she was and all he had done was staring at her like a bloody moron, rather than doing something.

It was nuts because they were going to see each other in the morning anyway, but he had fucked up and he owed her a true, face to face, apology.

He could be there in a couple of hours, talk to Sansa and worst-case scenario take the first flight out in the morning.

He had taken his duffel bag from the wardrobe and was in the middle of booking a flight on the internet on his mobile when it rang.

It was Sansa.

 

* * *

 

 

That was the first thing she had done for the past thirty-six hours which hadn’t been pre-approved by either Jaquen or some other PR mastermind.

Jon Snow was not Joffrey Baratheon or any of his arsehole friends she had met. He was unlike _anyone_ she had ever met. That was one of the reasons why she had fallen for him, and it was the main reason why, even if she wasn’t such a mess, they could not be together.

Jon was – innocent, he was a good, talented man who might end up as collateral damage in the crossfire between her family and Joffrey’s. Jon was a good director who deserved to have a long career and she was not going to be responsible for his downfall, not if she could help it.

Jon deserved a woman who wasn’t damaged, who didn’t avoid thinking about the past like the plague because she didn’t want to face what her abusive ex had done to her.

Jon didn’t deserve to feel guilty about what had happened in his car and that was one thing she could fix.  

She had wanted it – she still did, but her mind was a fucking landmine and she had no clue what might set her off. Her body refused to listen to what she wanted and – she was aware that she should seek professional help, but until she had met Jon she had thought she was coping well, all things considered. She had celebrated each small victory, and ignored the setbacks because she had been sick and tired of feeling like a victim.

She couldn’t, in good conscience, burden Jon with that – and his texts were making the cracks in her façade deepen.

They were at Robb’s because Jaquen had suggested that it would be better both to be pictured all together and to be away from prying ears and eyes; Robb and Talisa’s house was – comfy, but it also reminded her a little of their own house even if it wasn’t a bloody castle in the middle of nowhere – but it had the same feeling to it: a house full of love, warmth and laughter.

The downside of it not being a castle – was that she had to go out, in the snow, to make her phone call.

There was no risk of paparazzi lurking outside because Robb was paranoid as far as his privacy was concerned, even though he refused the silver screen and had married a doctor therefore he was not exactly what paparazzi sought; he was their parents’ son, after all, and he loathed publicity and paparazzi with everything he was; he always had, even when they were children.

Her family was inside and she knew she didn’t have much time before either Arya or Theon – or worse, their father – came out looking for her.

“Sansa.” Jon breathed, he had picked up right away. She was still collecting her thoughts.

What the hell was she supposed to tell him anyway? Should she spill the sordid details to try and make him understand why it hadn’t been his fault? Was she supposed to being the ice queen bitch she could be when things got too tough?

She had no clue.

“Jon,” She replied.

Well, she had called him, it was only fair that she was the one who talked.

“How are you?” She asked. She was good at making small talk – and she needed to buy some time.

Jon let out a sound that was a mix between a chuckle and a snort, and eventually he said, “Tired, I need a vacation.”

Tyrion had jokingly called the rehearsals, “Snow’s bootcamp” – but there was some truth in that: they had all worked very hard and they still hadn’t started to shoot the bloody movie.

“Our director is a pain in the arse. What can you do?” She replied – and damn! Why was it so easy to use that tone of voice with him? She hugged one arm against her chest, while cradling the phone with the free hand and said, “look – I think we need to talk.”

Except that they should have that conversation in person, not miles away from each other on a bloody mobile phone. She had been raised better than that!

She heard Jon let out a breath – and she had no clue whether it was a sigh of relief or anticipation. She just wanted Jon to stop apologising and move on.

“Sansa I –“

“So help me God, if you apologise again I will hang up. Don’t!” She snapped.

The anger she had felt had surprised her; it was like fire, burning hot in her belly and destroying everything else in its path to come out. She was aware of how fast her heart was beating. She was scared by how angry she felt at everything and everyone.

“You don’t need to apologise, Jon.” She continued, her voice was soft, even if she was feeling anything but, “Besides, I’ve got your message loud and clear.”

Jon didn’t reply and she heard him moving – was he pacing the room?

“Which message?” He asked eventually. He sounded confused and she could picture him – and she didn’t want to.

She ignored his question and said, “If you’ve kept me at distance because – well, because we are attracted to each other, then we should just focus on the movie.”

It would be ludicrous to deny that she was attracted to him, she had kissed him in that car, she had arched meeting his touch and she had wanted him to touch her, she had been about to reciprocate when her mind had reminded her of – things she’d rather forget.

“I mean, I get it and I agree – our personal lives should not and do not have to ruin the atmosphere on set.”

There, she truly was a better actress than she had ever thought.

 

* * *

 

 

He took off his glasses, and sat on the bed. He could hear her breathing – and he could picture her: beautiful and angry and so scared.

She was scared – he knew because he had got to know her and except for one giant fuck up, he could usually read her tells pretty well.

She was scared because she had used the same exact words he had been using for years – and he knew why he always used the job as an excuse: he was afraid.

The Starks had declared war on the Lannisters by showing off their power and their connections, and Sansa was playing the game – because Joffrey Baratheon was a little shit who had beat the crap out of her (according to Tormund), almost chocked her once (according to Tyrion) and had probably done worse.

“I agree –“ He said eventually, not because he did, he didn’t give a fuck about the atmosphere on set, but because Tormund had been right when he told him that she was still too _raw._

She was – and he had sworn to himself that he would protect her; he had fucked up once, he would not do the same mistake again.

“Still,” He said, “I know you don’t want to hear it, but I’m truly sorry for what I did, I didn’t mean to force you –“

“Don’t be ridiculous!” She spat out, “I bloody well know the difference, you didn’t force me to do anything! And please, stop apologising!”

The “you’re making it worse,” although not spoken was very clear and he felt numb.

Did she realise what she had said?

Apparently not, because she continued, “It’s better to move on and just focus on the movie –“

He didn’t truly hear what she said after, his mind was stuck in a loop replaying her words over and over, the director in him (the kid with such a vivid and visual imagination who had found a venue for his weird mind in the movies he made) supplied him images that twisted his inside in painful knots.

_I bloody well know the difference._

He might not have molested her – even though he still felt like he did, but someone else did. Joffrey probably.

“I agree –“ He heard himself say. His voice curt, all business like, as if he truly had heard what she had said. As if he truly agreed.

“Jon,” Sansa said softly, “I truly mean it – you did nothing wrong there, it’s – “

“It doesn’t matter, Sansa – you are right. I won’t mention it, again.” He interrupted her, his voice just as soft.

“Thank you.” She said, and he could hear genuine gratitude in her voice.

He closed his eyes as he whispered his good byes.

Ygritte had often said that he could be a clueless idiot, but he knew a few things after Sansa disconnected the call: he still felt guilty about what had happened in the car, he was still in love with Sansa even though he had just agreed with her that they should keep things professional between them and he would annihilate Joffrey Baratheon.

 

* * *

 

**First Week Of Shooting**

 

People didn’t believe him when he said that he had never been envious of Jaime – oh, no one ever dared to say it aloud, but he had seen the disbelief in those who had heard him say that he didn’t envy his brother.

Jaime was his big brother, it was as simple as that. Would he have loved to look like fucking prince charming, like his brother did? Yes – and he had spent decades trying to come to terms with the fact that his family hated him for his mere existence – Jaime being the only exception.

Jaime hated movie sets, even if he had grown up on them or, perhaps, for that very reason, yet, he looked comfortable and amused by the utter chaos which meant that they had officially started shooting Good Queen Alysanne and everyone was hyper.

“You don’t have to stay here –“ He told Jaime.

His brother smirked, “Oh yes, I have to –“

His own presence wasn’t strictly required on set, but he would burn in hell before he let Baelish destroy his movie.

The sets were majestic and there was something surreal in seeing what he had written in the script become real – well, as real as movie sets could be.

Jon was hard at work; he looked like death warmed over, but it wasn’t stopping him from checking with everyone that things were ready, Baeric was tweaking details and Brienne, was making sure that nothing got lost in translation, that everything was in order – and they were lucky to have her.

Jaime was looking at Brienne with amusement; the woman wasn’t exactly glamourous like the ones Jaime was used to seeing and interacting with (and he refused to dwell on the one who was in his brother’s heart), she wasn’t interested in looking pretty – she was a talented producer who had made a name for herself in a male dominated world, and he respected her immensely and so did Jon Snow.

 Even Petyr Baelish begrudgingly respected her because she was extremely good at her job.

“Attention everyone,” Baeric announced, “All non-essential personnel clear the set, now. Turn off your bloody phones and absolutely quiet on the set!”

Jaime, however, showed no signs of wanting to leave, he crossed his legs on the chair and turned off his mobile phone.

“Didn’t you hear our A.D?” Brienne, who was passing by, asked.

“Loud and clear, Ms --?” Jaime asked, amping up the charm.

Usually when he did that, women (and men) melt into puddles. His brother was a charismatic son of a bitch, but Brienne Tarth looked absolutely unimpressed. She was a very tall woman, she towered over Jaime who was not little by any stretch of imagination and he realised that Jaime was about to go against a woman who had had very little sleep for the past few weeks and was living on coffee and energy drinks.

“Tarth, Mr. Lannister and the only reason I haven’t kicked you out of here is Tyrion. So, don’t push it.” Brienne said.

 “I will be quiet.” Jaime stage whispered.

“You can be as loud as you want, Mr. Lannister, just not here. Why don’t I show you to our spectacular canteen?”

Yep. Totally unimpressed. And Jaime was usually not as much of a dick.

She turned and called one of the P.A asking them to escort Mr Lannister outside.

“Brienne,” He said, “it’s not necessary, this isn’t his first time on a set.”

Jaime, however, smiled his million dollar smiles, but he said, “It’s okay, Tyrion – I think our family has antagonised the good people here enough. I’ll show myself out,”

He winked at Brienne and followed the P.A. outside.

“He’s not wrong.” Brienne said.

“He seldom is.” He replied.

Right, he had forgotten that as far as most people were concerned Jaime was not very different from Cersei or their father, or God forbid Joffrey. Even if he was – but they didn’t owe people any explanation. And Jaime had all but told Brienne where to stick it, with his smile and his words.

Sansa had come on set and Tyrion wondered if that wasn’t the real reason why his brother had left.

“He’s not my sister or my nephew, try to remember that.”

“Oh, I do – that’s why I didn’t kick him out myself.” Brienne replied.

He sighed, and focused on Sansa and Dany, both in their costumes getting ready to start.

Jon was giving the last instructions to both women, and he furrowed his brows, noticing right away how he kept his distance from Sansa and how she was hugging her arms against her chest, while listening to him.

They weren’t rehearsing any longer – it was the real deal, and Jon’s sour mood had only worsened.

Great. Just, bloody great!

 

* * *

 

 

**From Reddit:**

**Posted by JustAnExtra1314**

**I was an extra on Good Queen Alysanne**

I don’t know a lot about the movie itself, except for the leaked script, but the scene where I was an extra in was _not_ in the script that I read.

The stage was majestic, we were instructed not to take pics and although we haven’t signed a NDA we were asked not to be too specific if we shared our set experience. Baelish & co pulled all the stops for this movie; of course, I can’t judge only by the scene I was in, but the costumes were amazing – and the one Sansa Stark was wearing was beautiful and the details – I don’t know what it will look like on screen, but the dress she was wearing was extremely well done. The set was jaw dropping – I’ve been on tons of sets and this has got to be one of the best I’ve ever seen.  

The scene I was in took half morning to shoot, and it’s just Alysanne and Jhaerys walking down a hall during a feast. I can’t judge Sansa Stark’s talent by the scene I was in, but she was extremely precise, didn’t miss a mark, didn’t flub her lines, she looked very at ease with her co-star (who missed his mark more than once) and she is as far from a diva as one can imagine. I overheard crew members chatting, and none of them had nothing bad to say about her. She might be Ned Stark’s daughter, or she got the part because she fucked the director, but she was a real pro and I appreciate that she didn’t keep us waiting forever.

I saw Jon Snow, but extras were directed by the assistant director and Snow was mostly chatting with the DP and the line producer.

I didn’t saw either Jorah Mormont or Daenerys Stormborn, they weren’t due on set until the afternoon.

Oh, one thing that surprised me was that actors all fed lines to each other, even when they weren’t shooting their coverage. I heard that it was something Snow asked them to do before they started shooting, and they all agreed. All of them. That was a first.

I will answer to any questions – if you’ve got them. I just wanted to share my experience.

  

* * *

 

 

If he survived making that movie, he was going to sleep for a month and then have a long, very long vacation. The good thing about the long table reading and rehearsals was that the actors and the crew knew exactly what to do and what he needed from them; the downside was that he was exhausted and he was starting to dream about how to kill Petyr Baelish in ways that in other moments he would find upsetting.

Baelish needed that movie to be a success, it had become very clear, especially since Future Perfect had crashed and burned. The fact that he had hired Joffrey Baratheon and he had genuinely thought that the dipshit had the emotional depth to play that character told him that the producer had clearly lost his marbles. Even if he didn’t despise Joffrey Baratheon personally, he was a director, - it was part of the job description to see how right or wrong an actor was for a role, he had also read the script and even before he knew what an utter waste of air Joffrey Baratheon was, he had thought he was not right for the role.

Anyway, he could deal with Baelish and his thirst for a success, all of them wanted the movie to be successful but unlike them their producer didn’t love or even particularly like the movie they were making.

And it was unnerving, especially because he always looked disinterested while watching the dailies. How could he not see?

They had burst their arses off during rehearsals and it showed in the dailies: all his actors, his crew were superb.

Sansa was – amazingly talented; he had seen her potential during her screen test, and she had worked very hard during rehearsals, but in the first dramatic scene she had played that day she had surpassed all expectations. She had been brilliant in the scene when they had rehearsed it; but she hadn’t been in a costume, she hadn’t been on set, she had had her script in her hand even if she had barely glanced at it and she had stopped and taken notes of his directions or chatted with her fellow cast members.

She had brought people to tears, he had seen goose-bumps rise on Tyrion’s skin as she shot her scene – a long shot, without CGI, only her voice and body filling up the screen, with Dany who had stood still, like a statue, on and off for hours without even blinking.

Alysanne Targaryen was becoming more than the Queen they had all studied in their history books at school, or the stuffy, saint-like figure of previous movies: she was a woman, a queen, a fighter and someone one could fall in love with.

Well, he might be biased on the last part.

He smiled when Sansa, on screen, flubbed a line and apologised, and he heard himself saying, “Still rolling, don’t stop.”

She took a breath, and resumed from where she had interrupted and she was a vision – clad in black and red.

Baelish had only said that the scene they had shot that morning would probably grant Sansa her Globe nomination.

If she had heard him, she didn’t show – she went on briefly rehearsing the following scene with Dany; Baelish was right, however.

She was _that_ good.

And he would probably go crazy before the end of the shooting.

 

* * *

 

 

**From _Melisandre Gossip: Celebrity Gossip, News, Photos, Rumours_**

 

**Exclusive: First Pictures from Good Queen Alysanne set.**

 

I have to admit that I didn’t expect to be so genuinely impressed by the costumes, even though knowing who’s at the helm, I should have been. What can I say? From time to time I can be wrong.

Sansa Stark looks devastatingly beautiful in her costume and I can see the chemistry between the two leads from here.

Speaking of chemistry: sources close to production told me that a strange phenomenon is taking place on set. They call it “the Snow Trigger”.

I made up the name, but the gist of what I’ve been told, from more than one person, is that Jon Snow, is shall we say overprotective of Sansa Stark?

In case you’re wondering that’s a euphemism.

No, I’m not saying they are sleeping together, none of my sources think that, but he is very protective of his leading lady. I cannot honestly blame him, considering the backlash Sansa Stark has encountered since she was cast in the role. He is doing his job, right?

The same sources, however, suggested me to watch this space for Daenerys Stormborn and Jorah Mormont. We have all seen how close they seem lately. Well, apparently, that’s not something limited to social media.

I will admit that even my old cynical heart sort of melt when I saw the video she posted on Instagram the other day of the cast and crew singing together (how and when it’s a mystery for the ages, my friends!) while Mormont played the guitar. The hashtags #howisheevenreal #sotalentedicanteven #noreallycanikeephim are everything I need to know. For now.

I told you Belfast was going to become love central, didn’t I?

 

* * *

 

 

 

People had talked about her relationship with Jorah – they had inferred a lot of things, some of them hateful, but what almost no one knew was that Jorah had been sceptical about her casting as Mrs. Muir, before they met.

In hindsight, she couldn’t really blame him; she had had virtually zero theatre experience at the time, and while she had been in a string of successful movies, the two media were vastly different as she found out pretty soon.

Not that Jorah had been anything but professional and a gentleman with her, even right at the very beginning, when they were two strangers who were reading together for the first time.

He had told her, later, many months later, during one memorable night where neither of them had been able to get any sleep and they had watched old movies on the telly all night.

She hadn’t been surprised, she hadn’t even been offended by his confession; if anything, she had – felt relieved! She had felt so intimidated and overwhelmed when they had first met: Jorah Mormont was one of the best actors of his generation; she had been a fan of his work for years and she was glad she hadn’t been a disappointment to him.

Incidentally, it had perhaps been the first time she had felt like a true actress, not just a pretty face who knew how to hit a mark and not flub her lines.

Years later, there was still the lingering fear of disappointing him, of not being good enough, of failing him even now – especially _that_ day.  

Tyrion might have written both Anne and Professor Reid with them in mind, but both roles were as far out of their respective comfort zones as they came, and she was in awe with Jorah – what he was doing with his character, how he was walking the fine line between making him almost a villain and then sucker punching her with scenes where he showed sympathy, humanity, love, empathy was astounding.  

Each scene between Anne and Professor Reid was fraught with tension, with unspoken feelings, with layers upon layers of meanings.

And Jon Snow, whose stick, was apparently, permanently lodged in his arse, and had been so since the first day of shooting, was particularly hellbent on squeezing the life out of them for that scene, that day.  

Unlike Captain Gregg and Lucy Miur, Anne and the Professor had a very physical relationship, mostly because Anne slipped further and further into Alysanne’s mind as they uncovered scrolls and secret documents.

It wasn’t the hardest scene they would have to shoot, but she was exhausted and so was Jorah. It had been a long week.

“Again, still rolling!” Jon said.

She cursed under her breath; so much for their plans for the night – it was the end of the first week of shooting, they were supposed to make love, even though they _were_ lovers already, in every way that counted – she suspected that they were probably going to faceplant on either one of their beds, (they still had separate hotel rooms, but in name only).

The scene was intense – and never had she been more aware of Jorah’s height and strength as that day.

Professor Reid was obsessed with Queen Alysanne, and  Anne, at that point of the movie,  was just a pawn for him, a means to an end and as they rehearsed, the script had been modified, tweaked, so that Anne and the Professor would become more than foils to the Queen and her husband.

“What did you see?” He asked, grabbing her shoulders, his gaze bore into hers as he repeated the question – and _damn_ how did he do it? He didn’t even _look_ like Jorah in that moment. 

He was pitch perfect – and she wasn’t surprised, just like it didn’t surprise her how natural it felt to react, how the rhythm they had found while rehearsing was only getting better now that they were shooting.

And she would kill Jon Snow if he dared to interrupt them again.

He didn’t.

It was like dancing – moving together, using their bodies, their eyes and their silences to tell the story Tyrion had written.

Anne and the Professor were possibly batshit insane, for different reasons, and their immediate connection had to be _explosive._

She forgot all about the marks, the lights, the people who were watching them; she forgot that Jorah and her were two actors doing their jobs – she became Anne, with her almost preternatural ability to delve into a queen’s mind, and Jorah became Professor Reid, whose obsession would cause a chain of events that would unlock long buried secrets and tear his present, and Anne’s, apart.

Jorah and her had made people root for them, love them, leave the theatre with tears in their eyes and satisfaction in their hearts without even touching each other – those same fans would see something completely different that time around; hopefully they would still root for the professor and Anne.

She didn’t even realise, at first, the almost unnatural silence on set when Jon finally called cut. She was ready to strangle him if he told them to repeat the scene; she felt like she had run a marathon on high heels, and Jorah looked tired as well.

 The applause coming from the crew, and the members of the cast that were on set, surprised her but, above all, she was surprised by the fact that Jorah was clapping his hands along the others.

She blinked. She had no clue about what she had done, but whatever it was, she hadn’t done it alone – Jorah had been with her, so she turned toward him and clapped her hands.

“Ok, fellas – time to shoot Jorah’s coverage.” Jon said, the stick was still firmly lodged up his arse, but there was a hint of a smile in his features.

“Ready?” Jorah asked.

She nodded.

God, she loved that man.

And Jon Snow be damned – she had a plan!

 

* * *

 

 

On their first off day when they were in New York, back when they two colleagues with far too much chemistry, but they were still virtually strangers to each other, they decided to sightseeing together.

They had reasoned that it was better than oversleeping; and at the time it had made perfect sense.

He later thought that he might have used that day to catch up with old friends, he could have done lots of different things, but he hadn’t – he had spent the day with that young woman and when they got back to their hotel, that night, she dozed off in the cab, her head resting on his shoulder, her gloved hands clasped on her lap.

That had been the first time it happened – to that day, no one knew about the day they had spent walking together, visiting museums and old bookstores, eating hot dogs and drinking giant cups of coffee, not even Tyrion.

There had been countless nights after the first one where Dany ended up falling asleep or dozing off with her head resting against his shoulder or chest and, more than once, he had had to resist the urge not to stare at her like a lovesick fool, especially toward the end of the run of their play; he had had to remind himself that they were both married and even if he hadn’t been, Daenerys most definitely was.

She was dozing off, now, in the car, on the way back to their hotel: she had crashed the moment they had got into the car; it had been a long, exhausting day and Jon Snow had milked their chemistry and pushed them to their limits.

He could feel her breath against his neck, and she had snuck her hands inside his coat in her slumber.

And no one and nothing could stop him from tilting his head down and stealing glances from time to time.

They were together, after all – everyone who counted a damn for them knew about their relationship, they had all but come out as a couple on social media and perhaps he should be worried because they had been spending virtually all their time together since rehearsals had started, but they wouldn’t shoot that movie forever  -- even if it had sort of become a recurring joke on set that they might indeed ending up doing that- and he couldn’t honestly imagine being away from her.

He had gone through it once – he wasn’t looking forward to repeating the experience.

He knew that there would be a time when they wouldn’t spend every moment together; after they wrapped Good Queen Alysanne they wanted to take a holiday together, but after that they already had some projects lined up (Tyrion Lannister was a bloody miracle worker!) and then they would have to start promotion for the movie.

Such worries, however, were far from his mind when he gently nudged her once they entered the hotel’s underground parking lot and the car slowed to a halt.

Usually, they would grin and bear paparazzi to get into the hotel, they were among the few who still had not rented a flat because moving in together was something they hadn’t discussed yet, not directly. It was a moot point, they had interconnected rooms, but they were for all intents and purposes already living together.

That night, however, he had asked the driver to alter their routine – Dany was exhausted, she had shot more stuff than he did, and he truly didn’t want her to face paparazzi while dead on her feet.

Dany looked adorable, however, she was rubbing the sleep off her eyes as she mumbled, “Sorry for drooling on you!”

He smiled and she took his hand in hers as they waved goodbye to the driver and headed toward the lift.

“I will kill Jon Snow!” She said between yawns.

He chuckled and she continued, “No, I mean it!”

Jon was a demanding director on good days – and it was clear that he was having a string of bad days and the result was that they were all exhausted.

He hadn’t missed the way Jon had milked his chemistry with Dany for all it was worth. He had used every trick in the book and had even come up with some new ones.

 So much for the glamorous life they were supposed to lead!

Well, all things considered, he was – deliriously happy: Dany’s arm was wrapped around his waist and his around her shoulders as they walked down the hall, they had the following morning off, they were shooting a movie they both loved, whose characters were complicated and were fun to play.

Yes, he had asked her to wait until the end of the first week of shooting to make love, but they were lovers already – he didn’t mind waiting for another day.

Dany, however, had other ideas.

 

* * *

 

 

Missandei was a saint. She was the best P.A. and friend anybody could ask for, she was also discreet and stealthy.

Therefore, Jorah didn’t have a clue that she had come to set and left a particular item in her trailer, nor did he know that she had spent hours in his hotel room (well, theirs, it was a matter of semantics at that point) following her instructions.

It wasn’t about sex – if it were, things between Jorah and her would have been a lot simpler and they probably wouldn’t be there, in that room, that night.

They had decided to wait until the end of the first week of shooting, but they hadn’t been bloody monks – therefore, it definitely was not about sex.

The look on Jorah’s face when they got in the room was worth, well – _everything._

They had had a quick dinner with Sansa, Tyrion and Bronn, but there was Jorah’s favourite wine chilling in a basket, their favourite midnight snacks on the table, dimmed lights; there was no music playing, but she had a playlist on her Ipod that might be used later.

Jorah had wooed her, even though he truly didn’t need to – and she had done the same, it had been even easier.

The truth was that they were stupid for each other.

It was worth it – Jorah’s eyes were comically wide as he looked around and then at her, almost as if he couldn’t believe his luck.

 

 _I am the lucky one._ She thought.

 

She was. She had told Jorah that she came with baggage and it hadn’t been a lie. It wasn’t just the fact that she was the widow of a beloved action movies star, whose fans were currently harassing Jorah on social media and whose family was a pain in her arse.

It wasn’t even the fact that she was a single mother; there were other things that belonged to her past, that made her lucky to be with him.

Jorah Mormont had taught her so much about her craft, about what and who she truly wanted to be.

He was setting her free in every way that counted.

“But –“ Jorah trailed, still looking around.

She smiled and slowly let her coat slide off on the floor, revealing the dress that Missandei had brought her that afternoon, while Jorah shot a scene.

“I’m not that tired.” She shrugged her shoulders, and she loved the reaction the simple pale pink dress was having on the man.

He smiled – and it definitely was not about sex, it had never been, not even in New York.

Jorah had been right the night they had kissed each other for the first time: they needed to be sure – and she was. She didn’t think she had ever been so sure about anything in her life.

“You got me!” Jorah said with a smile. He closed the distance between them and pulled her at him.

She could feel the warmth of his hands through the thin fabric of her dress and she definitely needed to feel more.

She wiggled her eyebrows and grinned, “Not yet, but that’s the plan!”

It was corny and they were both aware of that because they laughed as they hugged.

“Let’s go to bed.” Jorah said.

Four words – and it was Jorah, finally getting into his thick skull that she wasn’t going anywhere, anytime soon (or ever, if she could help it), it was what they had done for the past few weeks – being together, faceplanting on their beds after a hard day on set or spending hours making out or chatting.

It was their life, and sex was just part of it.

It turned out, however, that sex was extremely good.

Somehow, Daenerys had had no doubts about it.

* * *

 

 

She had known Theon Greyjoy since they were children – she clearly remembered how angry and sullen he had been when he was a teenager. To her, he had always been Sansa’s older brother, not as handsome as Robb but, nonetheless, a childhood friend.

The last things she had expected was to fall in bed with him –

Well, they were young, single out of town, they had been spending a lot of time together. She would start shooting her show soon and Theon worked at home, Sansa was away for most of the day and well, the first time it happened it had been mostly out of boredom.

She wasn’t in love with Theon – and she was reasonably sure that the man wasn’t in love with her. They just had fun in bed and were friends when they didn’t tear each other’s clothes off.

Usually, they didn’t stay in bed, after – at least, not when she was staying at Sansa and Theon’s flat.

“I don’t want to scar my sister for life,” Theon had said.

“Darling, I have known you since you were twelve, I remember the girls you brought home.” She had replied, once. Smiling and thinking that she didn’t know whether she should be offended about the man’s words.

“Point.” Theon had conceded, “Nevertheless, let’s just not – okay?”

So, they usually had sex – which was getting better and better (Theon did things with his fingers and tongue that made her wonder why on Earth he was still single!) and then they each did their thing: Theon edited his tv programmes while listening to directors’ notes and groaning at their memos and she could hardly reconcile the hyper teenager who couldn’t sit still to save his life and the man who patiently watched frame after frame and edited them so seamlessly, she read the scripts and drove him crazy repeating her lines.

“Oh, God, you are even worse than my family! You know the bloody thing, would you shut up?” He shouted from his room as she rehearsed in the living room.

Sometimes, they had dinner with Sansa, sometimes they went out together.

Her grandmother had raised an eyebrow when she had told her; a few years before she would have told her that she could do better than Theon Greyjoy – but she also knew her very well and she knew that Theon was helping her with something very important.

She was aware of the risks, and they were all calculated. She loved her job, she loved her craft, but she would not end up destroyed if things went pear shaped.

Besides, the Starks were finally using their power and clout, therefore when she decided to strike she might not lose her career.

There was something unusual, however, in staying in bed, after they had sex. It felt too _intimate._

They had worked almost all day, she hadn’t even opened her script and Theon had used his laptop for their (her) plan – she had noticed his head had been elsewhere, while they had sex.

“It’s my fault,” Theon said, breaking the long spell of silence that had fallen between them.

She turned toward him breaking their embrace and asked, “What is?”

“Joffrey and Sansa.” Theon said and she heard the hitch in his voice as he said those words.

“I was supposed to watch over her. Dad told me not to leave her alone.”

She shook her head. Did he seriously think that?

“You can’t mean it –“ She said.

“She was just a kid and I forgot about her!”

She sat on the bed crossing her arms over her naked chest and looked at Theon who was looking at the ceiling.

“Theon, look at me!” She said.

She had suspected that guilt was the reason why Theon was helping her bringing Joffrey Baratheon down, she just didn’t expect it to run so deep.

“Greyjoy, look at me!” She repeated.

He did. She had known the man next to her for most of her life, and she didn’t remember ever seeing him looking so miserable, so haunted; she remembered when Theon went through a phase where he wanted to know more about his biological family and how sad and angry, he had been at the time.

That was different; even during the worst of identity crisis when he was a teenager, Sansa had still been his sister, whom he teased but loved beyond reason.

“How could you know?” She asked, “You had just won an award – you couldn’t –“

“She is my sister, and I let her down.”

“Did you know about Joffrey?” She asked.

“No – I mean, I knew he was an arsehole, but I know plenty of actors who are arseholes on set, but are pretty decent with their partners. They don’t beat the shit out of them because they are bored!”

She blinked once and again, Theon’s eyes were boring into hers, now. It felt like the words had been ripped out of his chest.

“Did he – “ She was trying to find the right words, but there weren’t any, not really.

“Did he? Oh, yes, he fucking did. The only reason the prick is still alive is that Sansa begged Robb and me not to do anything stupid – like ripping his balls off and feeding them to him.“

“Do your parents know?” She asked.

Theon nodded, “We told dad after the twitter thing, but he already knew – and it’s my fault, I saw Cersei and the little shit walking toward Sansa and I didn’t do anything.”

“Don’t – it’s not your fault! What is it with you Starks and self-blaming? Sansa blames herself for the ‘hassle’ she caused to production,” she said making air quotes, “she blames herself for Joffrey’s tweets and now, you! What’s your bloody problem?”

“I’m not a Stark.” Theon said.

“Trust me, Greyjoy, you are! And you are an idiot! You were a kid yourself, and you are seeing how good the Lannisters are at covering up their shit, how could you know?”

“I should have protected her, I will never --” Theon trailed and got up from the bed, not finishing his sentence.

 _Oh, bloody hell…_ she thought.

“I’m one of her closest friends, and I didn’t know – I’ve been talking to people, to women for weeks and I never connected the dots,” she said.

Theon slowed down his movements, he had put on his trousers but was holding a shirt in his hands.

“She blames herself.” He said.

“A family trait, apparently.” She said, she got up from the bed and  quickly put on a shirt; that was not the sort of conversation one could have naked, she also realised that they were leaving the fuck buddies territory, but she would think about that later, first she had to make Theon see some reason.

“Joffrey Baratheon is the only one who deserves blame here, not you, not your sister!” She said.

Theon scoffed, “That’s genius, I have never considered that! Tell it to my sister the next time she has a nightmare or has a panic attack when she is in a car with me!”

He wasn’t making any sense. Panic attacks? She realised Sansa was very good at hiding her feelings but, perhaps, she should have paid more attention to her.

She was relieved when Theon didn’t avoid her touch. There was nothing sexual in it, but she didn’t want a good man to feel so guilty for something he was not responsible of.

“Please, Theon – stop this! It won’t help Sansa and it will drive you crazy!”

“Already there, sweetheart.” Theon said and gave her a smile.

“She dumped him – and we will bring him down, I swear!”

“I don’t know what he did to make her finally dump him. I’m not sure I want to know.” He said after a moment.

He looked – younger and heartbroken and as he hugged him, she realised two things: she was _not_ in love with Theon and their fling had to end, but she realised just how much Theon wanted to bring Joffrey down, especially when he said, “You should talk to Daenerys Stormborn – coordinate with her, she’s got her own plans, you know?”

She nodded, while still hugging him.

He was right, and he surprised her once again when he kissed her cheek and said, “I guess this conversation has just killed my chances to have sex again with you -”

“Let’s get decent – Sansa will be home soon,”

Theon smiled and broke their embrace, “One day you will tell me why you are doing this. The real reason.”

“Someone has to –“ She replied.

It was a lie, but Theon accepted it.

 

* * *

 

 

**Second Week of Shooting:**

**Joffrey Baratheon’s Statement first published on his Twitter and Instagram Accounts.**

__

_I want to address the recent events prompted by two tweets I wrote a few weeks ago. I realised that I should have intervened sooner and clarify that my tweets were nothing more than a joke. It was not tasteful and I deeply regret what I have written. One thing, however, is true: the label of nepotism has accompanied me since I was a child, therefore I sincerely think Sansa Stark did not get the titular role in Good Queen Alysanne because of her surname._

_I also regret the media storm that my tweets caused and how different media outlets have taken words I said out of context thus magnifying what, at its core, was a bad joke._

_I apologise to Jon Snow, a promising, extremely talented director whose moral integrity is well known in our business._

_I apologise to the cast and crew of “Good Queen Alysanne” for the hassle my bad jokes caused._

_Now I am aware of the extent of the impact of my actions and the power words wield on social media and how much they can hurt people in real life._

_The hardest regret to live with is what you have done to hurt someone else and I can hardly wrap my head around what was borne as a joke caused to people I love and admire._

_I have spent my career trying to set an example for men and women of my generation and I have failed, for this I apologise and I invite my fans to acknowledge my mistake and move on from the constant harassment online of both Sansa and Jon._

_I will now take a step back from social media and try and learn from my mistake. Thank you for reading._

_Joffrey Baratheon._

 

* * *

 

**From Twitter:**

 

 _@ **TlannisterforReal:**_ our second week of shooting is underway and we made it, lads: _@DanyStormborn4Real,_ #JorahMormont #SansaStark and I finally convinced our immensely talented (and pain in the arse) director to join Twitter! Go and say hello to @JonSnowVA , be gentle and don’t tell him it was me who tattled him out! 😉 #GoodQueenAlysanne

 

*

 

 **@JonSnowVA** : it’s not me you have to apologise to. It’s not me you hurt.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cathelyn vs Catherine - they're not typos, there is a reason for that.  
> Also, there's a reason for the lack of smut between Dany and Jorah, which will become clear down the line.


End file.
